Meltdown
by Concolor44
Summary: Anna and Kristoff are just trying to stay sane until the wedding, but Arendelle's beloved Queen has shadowy enemies, and a dangerous ally who knows a lot more about her than she could suspect. So many secrets, so little time. Rated for violence and adult situations. No lemons are anticipated, but my control over the characters is sketchy at the best of times. KristAnna, Elsa/OC
1. Prologue

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: When my wife and I saw "Frozen" in theater, I nudged her and allowed that we were going to have to get it when it comes out on DVD (Alert! That would be on Tuesday 18 March 2014! Don't miss it!). As some of you may know, it picked up a few Oscars the other night._

_I have been obsessed (__**obsessed**__, I tell you!) with the song "Let It Go" and have watched that video clip on Youtube probably 200 times. It is one of the few perfect pieces of music I am familiar with (Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings", Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody", Vivaldi's "Four Seasons", and Evanescence's "My Heart Is Broken" are also on the list) and I would love to wax rhapsodic as I go over each tiny facet of its awesomeness, but I'm not going to do that here._

_My Muse laid this story on me a few days ago, and I just completed the outline last night (it ran to almost 6000 words, but a lot of that is research and necessary timeline/backstory for the OC). I am very excited about this project, this being my first-ever "Frozen" fanfic, and I hope I can convey that excitement to you, Gentle Reader. Also, you should note that if you haven't seen the movie, this will be just __**loaded**__ with spoilers._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_Disclaimer of Standardness: I have no personal, financial or remunerative stake whatsoever in the Disney Corporation or its subalterns, designees or assigns; the movie "Frozen"; any of the characters that appear in "Frozen" (more's the pity, considering Elsa ... dammit); any of the thousands of people involved in the production, direction or distribution of "Frozen"; or any other person who might be legally connected, however remotely, with any of the entities previously listed. I realize no pelf from this work. The original and incidental characters belong to me, as does the plot. But that's it, folks._

_Have fun! And remember that life is TOO SHORT to waste any of it drinking "Lite" beer._

. . .

. . .

**Prologue**

. . .

. . .

Thin branches of fir and beech snapped and stung at Anna's face as she ran, the agonized yells fading away behind her lending her reserves of speed she'd not suspected she possessed. She tried to use her bound hands to protect herself, but the short cord running from her wrists to her waist prevented that, and it took all the concentration in her terribly exhausted frame to keep from tumbling down the steep slope. Surely there was a path around here somewhere! She'd not been this far from Arendelle but a handful of times in her young life, but she'd heard enough stories to expect some kind of …

A rough curse behind her – much too _close_ behind her – brought her back to the here and now. They were fast. Too fast. Frantically she looked right and left, taking notice of a fallen tree just up the slope. She struggled through the brush, trying to avoid the yellow-flowered furze for fear of its prickles, and almost succeeding. She picked up a thorn in her right heel and had to bite her lip to keep from screaming at the pain. What was left of her shoes didn't offer much protection; her feet were bleeding already. Quickly making herself as small as she could, she hunkered down and waited while the half-dozen men crashed by her hiding place. Once their sounds tapered off to the west, she popped up and headed back the way she had come, limping slightly from the wound in her foot.

"There she is!"

_Crap_.

She crabbed along as fast as she could over the rough ground, through the dense undergrowth, fighting the steep grade, and praying hard for a miracle.

But it was not to be. The men gained steadily and finally one of them grabbed her by a braid, jerking her neck painfully. She was spun around to face the seething countenance of the gang's largest member. He drew back his other hand and struck her across the face hard enough to break the skin on her cheek. Her world filled with flashing lights and the hollow sound of rushing water as she slumped to her knees, her final shreds of strength utterly spent.

The man dropped her braid and grabbed her by the neck. His huge hands easily circled her slim throat, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. Yanking her up until their faces were a mere hand's breadth apart, he growled, "My brother! That was my brother, you little bitch! You broke his knee!"

The gang leader came up then and noticed Anna was beginning to turn blue. He punched the other man's arm. "Don't kill her. She's no good to us dead."

His grip relaxed and Anna drew a ragged breath and coughed, tears springing to her eyes. She had told herself she wouldn't cry, that she wouldn't show any fear. She wouldn't give them that satisfaction. But it wasn't working out quite that way: she was terrified, and too tired to dissemble any longer.

"Yeah." He glared at the girl in hate. "Yeah, you're right." He grabbed her bound hands and nearly crushed them in his fist. She gave a gasp of pain and a low moan. "But y'know what? They'll want her back just as bad if she's minus a few fingers."

She looked up at him, crying freely now, and whimpered, "No. Please. Please don't do this."

He pulled a long knife from his boot, laid her hands over a nearby tree trunk, and raised the blade high …

. . .

. . .

_A/N: More to come soon._


	2. Delegation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: We're going to back up a bit now and see what sorts of events led up to poor Anna being in such dire straits._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 1: Delegation**

. . .

. . .

There were four facts about his life in Arendelle that combined to give Kristoff Bjorgman a headache on a fairly regular basis.

The first: He was a tall fellow, just shy of nineteen hands, which placed him well above average.

The second: He loved ale. This was certainly not unique, as hardly anyone who lived there _**didn't**_ love the local brews. It actually comprised a decent chunk of their export trade. Of course every householder brewed his own ale. They had to, since it wasn't safe to drink plain water. But the true brewmasters ran the taverns, and that was where the best ales (and _akvavit_, and mead on occasion) could be had.

The third: The people of Arendelle, by and large, were traditionalists. They took the view that if something wasn't broken, it didn't need fixing. They tended to view that attitude as economical and efficient as opposed to lazy.

The fourth: Most of the buildings housing the taverns were very old, which meant that they were built back when people were shorter, which meant that the doors seldom had more than eighteen hands of clearance. And since they had served for two or three hundred years, nobody was of a mind to fix them.

When he hit the lintel coming through the door this time, Kristoff actually knocked a fine fall of dust off the near rafters, and it pulled a mighty grunt from his rangy frame. Nevertheless, he rubbed the numbness out of his forehead, ducked a little lower, and came on in, whereupon he called out, "God save Queen Elsa!"

A dozen steins were lifted high, a dozen voices rang out in response, "God save her!"

Still rubbing his head, the Royal Ice Harvester stomped over to the bar. "Lief? I was about to order a stein of Best Blond."

"Yeah?" answered the bartender, "you change your mind then?"

"I did." He pointed at the red patch on his forehead. "Make it two steins."

He chuckled. "Comin' right up." The Red Crown was neither the best nor the oldest tavern in Arendelle, but Lief Falstad, the jovial, balding, comfortably fat man who ran it, loved it no less for that. He kept his fire warm, his ale fresh, and his customers happy. As with every other tavern-keeper in the city, he lived on the premises (in two fairly large upstairs rooms in his case) and did most of his own cooking. He was relatively well-known for a spicy stew that he kept hot in a cauldron by the smaller hearth near the bar, and for his love of bad jokes.

Also, like every other tavern-keeper in the city – like practically every other _**citizen**_, for that matter – he held Arendelle's monarch, Elsa the Snow Queen, in extremely high regard.

This was a state of affairs that Elsa had worked very, very hard to achieve. She had known, upon returning to assume her rightful throne after the unpleasantness associated with the revelation of her ice-powers, that she had an uphill battle in placating the fears and winning the hearts of her subjects, but she was determined to make it happen. Fortuitously, the date of her birth (and thus of her coronation) helped a lot, coming right at the end of April: she had the pleasant summer months to do her initial planning and enact her ideas.

She started by examining the policies relating the ruling family to the rest of the populace. Her father (and his father) had been just and fair in their administration of their kingly duties, concentrating on improving things in-country and staying completely **out** of the plethora of wars that engulfed the rest of Europe, so she knew what to do there. Sort of. (She had records, and lots of them.) Being mostly isolated all those years meant that she wasn't going to become a people-person overnight, but she genuinely cared for Arendelle and its subjects, and she genuinely wanted to do what was best for them. This made her something of an oddity among Europe's reigning monarchs in the early years of the Nineteenth Century, but she didn't know that. Nor would she have cared.

Basically, the only thing she could come up with on short notice was that there was a very large discrepancy between the wealth of the average citizen and the size of the royal treasury. That was understandable when she thought about it. After all, running a country was significantly more expensive than running a greengrocer or a tannery. But when she turned an eye toward the list of taxes, she hit pay-dirt. She decided quickly that the tax load was a bit too high, and called a meeting with the Council of Elders to see which ones could be reduced or eliminated.

To a man, they were pleased that she wanted their input. Her father, though a good person, had been quite the take-charge-and-do-it-my-way sort of king, and he rarely asked for the Council's opinion. Right off the bat, they recommended discontinuing all the various (usually stiff) taxes on alcohol.

As the Councilors had predicted, this brought a swift and measurable uptick in tavern custom, which soon spread to other areas of the local economy. She also reduced a few land-use taxes, took the fine off the hunting of wild game near the city, and eliminated the fee for fishing in the fjord, all of which made life somewhat easier for everybody. Suddenly, she was the most popular monarch in anyone's memory.

Then came the winter. Through Kristoff, the trolls had warned Elsa that this would be the worst winter anyone had seen in a century, and that all of Europe would suffer. She had managed to get a few particulars from them about what they thought the extremes of temperatures and storms and snowfall might be. Then she got busy and laid out a plan to protect her kingdom.

She knew that love was the remedy for the overfreeze she had laid on Arendelle when her powers erupted after the ball. She hoped it would work against natural weather as well.

When the first serious cold snap hit and the temperatures plummeted to forty and fifty below zero, she stationed herself on the highest tower in the city and … just absorbed it. In concentrating on her love for her subjects, she was able to moderate the gelid air up to an almost comfortable level, and keep it that way for most of a day. The effort exhausted her, but it also seemed to last a good bit past the point where she bent it to her will. They had mild weather for almost two weeks.

The trolls actually sent her a message two days before the monster storm hit, a month to the day after she recovered. It came snarling in off the Norwegian Sea, billions of tons of snow and hurricane-force winds that threatened to flatten the city with an almost palpable hatred. This time she didn't so much absorb it as re-direct it. She froze the fjord, then gathered the snow in a gigantic western wall across it, nearly as high and as thick as the surrounding mountains. This served as a shield against the wind, and protected Arendelle from the worst of the blows. What snow got over the top, she simply directed past the city, piling it on the already-burdened slopes until it reached truly dizzying heights.

She did this, neither stopping nor resting, for the three days the storm lasted. When she finally collapsed, utterly spent and near death, every family in the kingdom offered aid or food or medicine – in addition to fervent prayers on her behalf – and the lines of concerned subjects stretched around the palace four rows deep. It was three weeks before she could walk unaided.

Fortunately, the next two storms were nothing _like_ as severe as that first one, and she handled them easily.

So well did she care for her kingdom that there was a complete absence of deaths that might be attributed to the wicked winter weather. Normally the kingdom would lose a score or more each season. And every last inhabitant knew exactly who to thank. On the Sixth Feast Day of Epiphany, in mid-February, the local bishop held a special service in Elsa's honor, and delivered a homily extolling her virtues and thanking a merciful God for sending her to them. She carefully and gratefully guided the worst weather around Arendelle through until Spring, earning (and basking in) the devotion of her people. And she was content.

Eventually there was another topic that had nothing to do with governance but which took up a lot of her time anyway: the relationship her sister, Anna, had cultivated with the Royal Ice Harvester. For reasons Elsa could not quite grasp at first, the smelly, uncouth fellow had captivated the Princess's attention completely.

Anna was, to use a _ridiculously_ inadequate word, impulsive. Where Elsa was self-contained, reserved (if not somewhat shy), and basically serious about life and her place in it as Queen, Anna was an extrovert's extrovert, a cockeyed optimist who never met a stranger and who was just as likely as not to pull random passersby into a Maypole dance … or one of her spur-of-the-moment schemes. That quality had not served her well when that insufferable miscreant, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, had made his play for her. Elsa huffed in remembered frustration. _Sure, I'll marry you! Sure, I don't know anything __**at all**__ about you, but you're gorgeous and you say you love me, so it's all good! What could possibly go wrong?_ Anna had met him, and that same evening had agreed to _**marry**_ him? The very idea made Elsa's head hurt.

_Well, at least with Kristoff, we've known him for close to a year now. And he __has__ had something of a steadying influence on her. Now and then. Under the right circumstances. For brief periods of time. _She loved Anna dearly, but some days Elsa just wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled.

Anna had dropped hints to the fellow for months (a few of the hints having been nailed onto his head with a hammer) that Kristoff ought to ask her to marry him, and he'd finally come around five weeks ago. Elsa understood that his, ah, 'family' had a lot to do with his reticence. Not that they disagreed at all … no, they'd been all for it. Quite enthusiastic about the match. But the trolls were fairly impulsive in matters of the heart, and Kristoff wanted to be sure – dead sure – that marrying Anna was a _**good**_ idea, and not just _their_ idea, or _her_ idea. Inasmuch as he knew he'd have to make some fairly significant changes in lifestyle once he became the Prince Consort, he had talked it all over with Elsa in three rather lengthy meetings in the palace library.

In those meetings, she tore him into tiny, bite sized morsels, roasted each morsel until it was an even nut-brown, and scraped them all back together into a pile more or less resembling Kristoff. At the end of each session, he knew _**exactly**_ where he stood with Elsa. It didn't help him sleep, but it did settle his mind over what he ought to do. For Elsa's part, she came to understand that Kristoff loved her sister more than life, and that was why he was being so tentative. He wanted the best for her, and had been pretty damn sure that _**he**_ wasn't it. He figured she ought to hold out for (at the very least) some rich duke or earl or something. But Elsa stood on conviction more than convention, and she informed him that if they truly loved each other, it would be criminal to keep them apart.

However … looking at the fellow, she knew they would have their work cut out for them in making him presentable at court. Ah, well, one couldn't have everything, could one? Where, after all, would one put it?

But we digress.

Kristoff was working on his second stein when Olaf ambled in. The self-aware snowman was a great favorite of the townspeople (the children in particular), and loved to just wander the streets, meeting and greeting. Anna had gone to the trouble of writing up a ceremony whereby he was declared the Royal Ambassador to the People of Arendelle, and it had thrilled him to pieces. Literally.

Two men near the door noticed him and called him over. "Olaf, my boy!" said one, "how's the world's smartest snowman today?"

"I have been playing football with the orphans!"

That earned him a frown. "Football? What's that?"

"That is where the children kick a ball around with their feet."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense. So are you any good at kicking?" Given Olaf's rather, ah, _basic_ structure, it was a fair question.

"Oh, I did not do the kicking." He pulled out his midsection and held it up in one stick-hand. "I was the ball!"

Everyone laughed at his joke. He replaced his pseudo-thorax and wobbled over to Kristoff. "Hello, Mister Royal Ice Harvester, Sir!"

"Hey, Olaf. What's new?"

"Oh! That is right! I wanted to ask: did Queen Elsa buy the big, new, shiny ships or do they belong to someone else?"

_blink-blink_ "New ships? What new ships?"

"There are new ships in the fjord. I just wondered …"

Kristoff leaped off the stool and out the door (missing the lintel this time) and ran over one street until he could he could see the open water. He got a chill that had nothing to do with the cool breeze ruffling his hair.

Five warships sat at anchor at the mouth of the fjord.

. . .

. . .

Elsa stood at a window in one of the towers, watching as a skiff from the flagship rowed steadily in toward the docks. Her keen eyes had picked out eight figures, six of them at the oars, and two opulently-attired horses, and she liked this not at all. While the flagship of the small war fleet flew the colors of the King of Norway and Sweden, the delegation – for that is what she assumed was coming – came in under the banner of the Church.

"What do you think they want?"

Elsa glanced over at her sister who stood there beside her, then snaked an arm around the girl's waist. "I'm sure they'll waste no time letting us know, once they reach land."

Her voice very small, Anna asked, "Do you think it's my fault?"

That startled the Queen. She cocked an eyebrow at Anna and asked, "Whatever in the world would give you that idea?"

"Because of Kristoff. I've … heard some things. Some of the townspeople say … well …"

"That you should marry within your station?"

"… Something like that."

"That's puffin poop."

Anna was so shocked to hear her stately, staid sister use such an expression that she actually took a step away. "What?!"

"Kristoff loves you to distraction. He places your well-being above his own. I would venture to state that you would not find such qualities in some self-important Continental dandy." Elsa placed a reassuring hand on Anna's shoulder. "And I know you love him as well."

"Oh, yes! Lord knows, yes!"

"Then I don't see the problem."

"Maybe. But you're a kinda special case." Nodding toward the fjord, she added, "I don't expect that kind of open-mindedness from anyone else."

"We are a sovereign state. It is none of their affair whom you choose to marry."

Anna hesitated for a second, then threw her arms around Elsa. "I'm so glad you're my sister!"

Returning the embrace, Elsa just nodded in agreement. After a moment, she said, "I had better go down to the receiving chamber. One must keep up royal appearances, after all." Patting her sister's back, and keeping her own fears secret, she added, "It will be fine. You'll see. It's probably only some official congratulations from King Charles."

"With five warships?"

Elsa shrugged. "Piracy has been on the rise. One can't be too careful these days." She turned, guiding Anna toward the door. "Let's go meet them. You'll see."

. . .

. . .

The octet formed up at the dock and began a steady march toward the palace, the banner-man leading the way, followed by two of the men on horseback, with the remaining five making up the rear-guard. All of them wore dark, heavy, ankle-length hooded robes emblazoned at breast and back with King Charles's seal. People lined the streets to watch, but no one spoke to the visitors, and they seemed entirely disinclined to speak to the people.

It wasn't very far to the palace. The guards ushered them into the reception hall where Elsa sat in a small throne, the Scepter and Orb of Arendelle on a deep blue velvet pillow to her right. Then they formed up in a rank to either hand.

The herald stepped forward. "Anfred Nordmark, First Baron of Rosendal, emissary of Charles II, King of Norway and Sweden!"

The herald stepped aside and the man on the right stepped forward. He lowered his cowl, pulled out an elaborately embellished scroll and began to unroll it.

Elsa spoke, "Baron Rosendal?"

He gave her his attention, but did not speak, a lack which irritated Elsa. "Has the King's Court forgotten the basic courtesy of a greeting?"

He fired off a supercilious stare for several seconds, finished opening the scroll, and read,

"_Be it known to the  
People of Arendelle that Charles III,  
King of Norway and Sweden  
sends his beneficence."_

He cleared his throat.

"_Hear now our pleasure:_

_Whereas we are the recognized  
Head of the Church of Norway, and_

_Whereas it is beholden upon us  
to promote and support  
True Religion in all our realms, and_

_Whereas it has come to our attention  
that late events have altered  
the line of succession in Arendelle, and_

_Whereas it is neither meet nor right  
for a sorceress to hold the throne  
in any land in Christendom,_

_Be it known to all and sundry that Elsa,  
self-styled Snow Queen of Arendelle,  
is pronounced anathema henceforth._

_She will immediately  
and upon pain of death  
surrender the throne of Arendelle  
to our appointed Regent  
until such time as we may journey thither  
to inspect the land and  
set to rights the true line of succession._

_Declared this Nineteenth Day of February  
in the Year of Our Lord MDCCCXX_

The entirety of the present court of Arendelle was seething by this time.

Baron Rosendal stepped back and held an arm out to the other front man, who stepped forward and lowered his cowl, staring at Elsa with a sinister smirk.

She stood abruptly in shock. "**You!**"

"Yes. It is I. I told you I'd be back," sneered Prince Hans of the Southern Isles.

. . .

. . .

_A/N: My goodness! Declared anathema? That's a bit extreme, don't you think?_

_What will Elsa do about this? What CAN she do? Stay tuned, Gentle Reader, and you'll find out._

_All comments welcome!_


	3. Retribution

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: Elsa had referred to Prince Hans as an 'insufferable miscreant'. Let us see, Gentle Reader, how accurate that assessment really is._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 2: Retribution**

. . .

. . .

No one moved, no one dared blink, for the space of three breaths. Then Elsa allowed a tiny smile to grace her features as she very deliberately sat back down on her throne. She gathered her ermine robe about her, studying Hans calmly until his smirk faltered a bit. "Tell me," she said in a conversational tone, "Does your false ambition know no limits? Your perfidy no bounds?"

The corners of his mouth turned down in time with his frown. "I am … there is … ambition has nothing to do with it!"

"Oh, indeed."

He took a small step forward. "You have been deposed, Elsa. You will now surrender your throne to me."

"Really. So then, has King Charles declared war on Arendelle?"

"What? No, of course not." A little of his bravado returned. "Don't be absurd."

"I had rather thought not." Her smile increased momentarily before settling into a look of satisfaction. "Arendelle, as you may not realize, O Prince, has a non-aggression treaty with Norway. It dates back to the middle of last century, and is renewed faithfully every five years. It was, in fact, renewed last autumn, and carries my seal."

"What does that have to do with …"

"Also, while the King certainly _**is**_ the titular head of the official Church of Norway, Arendelle is not Norway. And Arendelle does not have a state religion. We collect no tithe. In fact, even though a majority of the populace – and that includes the royal family – does adhere to the Lutheran faith, and does, it is true, look to the Church of Norway for spiritual guidance, freedom of conscience is a cherished and closely-held right here. The concept was written into the laws of the land in my great-grandfather's time. There is a synagogue just to the north for the small Jewish population that ended up here after escaping persecution in Russia. One of the most popular taverns in the city is operated by a trio of Trappist monks. And no one is required to attend Church. Many do not."

Hans blinked at her, not liking where the conversation was going. "That still does not …"

"King Charles," she went on, as if he had not spoken, "is certainly welcome to his opinion. But Arendelle is a sovereign state, and bears no liege-oath to any other ruler. If Arendelle happens to follow his lead in a given issue, we do so for our convenience and pleasure … not his. So his opinion remains just that, and carries no weight of law or rule." She drew herself up proudly, solemnly. "Arendelle, as it so happens, has a Queen.

"The kingdom is doing quite well, and we thank the King of Norway and Sweden for his concern … however …" She fairly pierced Hans with her gaze. "I would state for the record that, in the first point, I am no sorceress of any kind, but a loyal daughter of the Church. I was _born_ with the God-given abilities I possess, and I use them in the service of my lands. In the second point, I love my people. I care for them in a way that no mere upstart outsider could possibly comprehend, and I will continue to do so as long as a merciful God allows me to draw breath. In the third point, I have _no_ _**intention **__**whatsoever**_ of handing over my throne, and the reins of power it signifies, to anyone else, period. And in the last point …" Here, she gripped the arms of her throne and rose smoothly to her full height. "Lastly, it will be a colder day in Hell than any day Arendelle has ever seen before a pusillanimous, lying, conniving, back-stabbing gremlin such as yourself gets his sniveling hooks into this blessed land."

He stood there, trembling in shock and fury, grinding his teeth in frustration. This was not going at all the way he had envisioned. Ergo, his backup plan. "Very well. The King instructed you to follow his orders upon pain of death. That's your choice, Elsa!" He jumped to the side, and the five men behind him all drew pistols and aimed at the Queen.

She would (much later) determine that she should have anticipated such a move on his part. It would be just like him. And he wouldn't have come into her palace to make such a proclamation without any means to back it up other than the threat of the King's displeasure. It made perfect sense in retrospect. However, in the heat of the moment, staring down five cavernous gun barrels, she froze.

Her guards, on the other hand, were trained for just such an occasion, and stormed in front of the Queen to protect her. The two on the outside threw their spears just as the five pistols spoke. The multiple reports were deafening in the enclosed space, and it jerked Elsa out of her paralysis.

Two of the assassins were down, but so were two of her guards. The scowl that came to rest on her normally lovely features should have terrified the assailants. Perhaps they were too preoccupied with trying to kill her to notice. But they weren't given the chance to launch another volley, as thick ice instantly encased the entire delegation.

Elsa rushed to the fallen men. Both were conscious, but bleeding badly. She prodded one of the servants and directed, "Get the chirurgeon here as fast as ever you can!" Whipping back around to the men in a rising panic of concern, she said, "Eckert, Bjarni, hold on! Please, please don't die! Please don't …"

. . .

. . .

Like a spark through oil-soaked tinder, the news of the attempted assassination spread across the city. Small mobs sprang up in several places. A few vigilante groups approached some of the Aldermen to insist, vehemently, that the invaders be attacked forthwith. And there was no shortage of volunteers.

For their part, the Aldermen quickly got up a petition for war and sent it to the palace. The sanctity of the ruling house, the safety of their beloved Queen, and the very sovereignty of Arendelle itself were at stake, they proclaimed.

The individual at the focal point of all this fuss, however, was working hard to maintain calm … hers, and that of those around her. After doing all she could for her two wounded guards, Elsa called a meeting with the Council to discuss appropriate responses to the affront. At the close of an hour and a half of debate, they decided to send a small party out to the flagship. An official document was penned, outlining the crimes which had been committed against the Throne of Arendelle, offering a pardon to the sailors on the ships, and asking for a confirmation that there would be no more hostilities. Three men were chosen to deliver the message.

By that time, night had fallen, and Elsa decided that this next step could wait until morning. Besides, it had been hours and hours since her last meal, and she wanted nothing more than a nice, hot filet of cod with that wonderful lemony sauce the cook had invented, followed by a nice, hot bath with some lavender soap.

Later, while Gerda fussed over the Queen's bath preparations, Elsa detoured over toward Anna's room. She hadn't seen her sister since before all the unpleasantness began, and she felt the lack of the strawberry blonde's ready effervescence. She could really use a little pick-me-up, and a few minutes with Anna sounded like just the thing, especially since she could assure the girl with no trace of doubt that her relationship with Kristoff had absolutely nothing to do with the delegation's visit.

It had become their practice to knock twice and just come in. Neither sister was all that prudish around the other, and if Anna walked in on Elsa getting dressed, it made not even a bump in the highway of her chatter. Similarly, Elsa had no qualms about sitting in the room and grinning to herself while Anna flung clothes in nine directions trying to decide which gown/dress/jumper/riding outfit would best impress Kristoff. As if, Elsa would think to herself, Kristoff needed any impressing. He was positively ridiculous in Anna's presence, smitten beyond description, and even prone to small accidents. It was really quite silly. She, herself, was very sure she would never behave in such a fashion. Of course she knew, as did most women, that men were the weaker sex.

But, as she approached her sister's rooms, she heard a sort of keening wail. Her eyes flew wide in alarm; she picked up her skirts and ran the final stretch down the hall, calling up her ice powers in readiness. If there were someone trying to do harm to her baby sister …

Anna's cry grew louder, stuttering and gasping in pain! But Elsa was almost there. "Anna! Anna, what's wrong?! Who's there?!"

Elsa yanked the door open and sprang inside, arms raised to rain icy death on …

A good hundred candles lit the scene: Kristoff. On his back. Naked. With Anna poised over him, spitted like a duck for roasting. Naked. With Kristoff's hands clenched hard into her thighs.

A quick series of squeaks and moans in time with her thrusts preceded Anna's final drawn-out cry and subsequent satiated collapse onto her lover. Neither of them noticed Elsa, being rather preoccupied with more pertinent activities.

The Queen stood in the doorway, bemused, for a moment more, then walked quietly over to the bed. Her sister and her consort were breathing deeply and rapidly, eyes closed, contented smiles gracing their faces.

"One wonders," stated Elsa, "how long this has been going on."

Anna gave a little shriek and clawed for the quilts.

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "A bit late for modesty, don't you think?"

Kristoff blushed so hard Elsa wouldn't have been surprised if his face began giving off smoke. Anna, finally securing the haphazard wad of covers, pulled them up to just under her eyes and peered at her sister like a trapped doe.

A delicate foot tapped the hardwood a few times. "Well? How long?"

Anna cleared her throat, coughed, cleared it again, swallowed twice, and stuttered, "Th-th-this is th-the … um … the third time."

"I see." She regarded the pair with mild exasperation. "I see," she repeated. "So you believed it a good idea, given that Arendelle might be on the brink of war, to sneak off to your room and make the beast with two backs, did you?"

They spluttered and stumbled over unintelligible (and likely fabricated) explanations for half a minute before Elsa held up her hand. "As I am sure you are well aware, one fairly common outcome of this … _performance_ is that you will find yourself with child."

Anna hid her eyes, getting even redder than she'd already been.

"You never gave that the slightest thought, did you?" Switching her gaze to Kristoff, she added, "And after our talks, too. I believe I had made my position on this, ah, state of affairs quite clear."

"Um … yes. You did. Quite. Sorry. Very clear. Yes. Sorry." He swallowed hard and squeaked, "Don't kill me?"

"So what inspired …" She waved a hand in their direction. "… this."

Anna dropped the cover and knelt, pleading, "Please don't be mad at Kris! It was all my idea! I set up the candles and put clean sheets on and had dinner waiting and he didn't know it was for …"

"Stop." That hand again. "As it takes _**two**_ to make this dance work, culpability is shared. That you, sister, seduced him in this instance does not excuse him. Though I must say," she stated, stroking her chin while contemplating Anna's smooth, svelte, unclothed form, "Thinking about it dispassionately, I would be truly impressed if he had been able to resist _**that**_."

Anna squirmed back under the quilt, shame radiating off her in waves.

"So. You are newly nineteen years old and an adult, at least theoretically. If you understand the consequences and are prepared to suffer them …" the Queen turned and glided to the door, waving a careless hand in their direction. "I've nothing more to say on the topic. Carry on. I'm going to have a bath and then retire." She paused at the door. "One might suggest you consider doing likewise." A very tiny frown wrinkled her nose. "And have those sheets washed."

. . .

. . .

The Queen's representatives set off at daybreak, rowing out to the great warship under a flag of truce. Almost the entire city lined the walls and the docks, watching their progress.

Elsa and Anna sat together in one of the tower rooms so they could have a good view of the proceedings. Elsa's father had been fond of ornate spy-glasses and had a nice little collection of them. She currently held one that brought the scene much, much closer. Anna had one nearly as good.

Neither sister had brought up the embarrassment of the previous night, for which Anna was intensely grateful. She figured Elsa would revisit the subject after the current crisis was past, and was planning to be on her very best behavior until that time. If she could restrain herself. Kristoff had proved to be … quite talented. And blessed with a marvelous stamina. Just thinking of it made the blood rush to her nether regions, so she resolved not to think about it. Much.

To distract herself, she asked, "Who are those three again?"

"Jakob Aadland and Geirulf Solversen, two of the Aldermen, and the First Lieutenant of the Watch. I believe his name is Rolf Heim."

"And who's rowing?"

"Their names are Derek and Falke. They're in the Watch, too. It seems there was a lottery held to choose who had the honor."

"Oh. My goodness."

Finally the skiff made it to the huge ship. A ladder was lowered and the three clambered up. They spoke briefly with someone in an ornate hat and then went into the superstructure on the foredeck. The few sailors that could be seen just lounged around on deck and in the rigging. There were two near the wheel, leaning on it and talking to each other. Peering closely, she fancied she could make out details of the uniforms …

Wait.

In rising alarm, she fiddled with the focus, bringing the view in a bit more clearly. After a minute, she was sure. She rose and hurried toward the door.

Anna stood and followed. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Those are not Norwegians."

"… Huh?"

"If we're lucky, they're mercenaries. If not …"

Anna had to run to keep up with her. "What if they're not?"

"Then they're pirates."

In just over three minutes Elsa had called what Councilors were available and shared her fears. One of the old men grew very pale and sat down. Elsa stepped over to him and asked, "What is it, Geert?"

"Falke! My son is one of the rowers!"

A guard burst into the conference room. "My Queen! The ships are moving!"

They all hurried out to one of the westward rooms and peered toward the end of the fjord. The sun shone full on the five ships as they slowly maneuvered around to form a line.

"They're going to fire on us!"

Elsa's brow darkened menacingly. She said nothing, but ran to the nearest stairs and began to climb. She was puffing hard when she reached the high landing and stepped out to the balcony. Frost suddenly covered all the near surfaces. A cold fog ran along her body, spread across the floor and spilled down the side of the castle. She raised her arms and concentrated as a series of flashes along the side of the flagship signaled the first volley.

"NNNNNGYYYAHHHH!" She flung her power toward the water. Huge gouts of ice leaped upward, climbing and climbing and finally intercepting the speeding cannonade. Only two of the shells made it through, and they splashed into the water just in front of the dock.

The assault's deafening thunder was muted somewhat by the wall of ice, but it still brought distant screams from the people milling about below. The barrier was just low enough so that Elsa could still see over it. The other four ships copied the flagship, sending dozens of flaming balls toward the city, but the Snow Queen stopped them all. They fired two more quick rounds before deciding that tactic wasn't going to work. Two of the schooners began ponderously turning to leave.

"Oh, no you don't." Elsa created a long slide extending from the side of the tower where she stood, out, out, out to connect with the top of the great frozen escarpment, and out, out, out to meet the water about halfway to where the ships sat. Then, forming some skates of ice, she jumped onto the slide and zipped down to the fjord.

All five ships were well into turning about, obviously wanting nothing more to do with the Ice Witch of Arendelle since they had so drastically underestimated her power. But now Elsa, standing in contact with the fjord, exercised her will on the water beyond the small fleet. It froze solid at the mouth of the fjord, and then began slowly to tip upward and backward toward the city. She could see screaming sailors as they tried to find purchase on the decks that were steadily becoming perpendicular. In very little time, all five ships were standing on their sterns, locked in ice. She saw the skiff and used another bit of power to boost it up on a thin ice block and scoot it over near her. The two men were shaken, but ever so glad to be away from the flagship. As it happened, half a dozen of the sailors had trained long guns on them just as Elsa's powers struck. They would have been dead in another few seconds, had she not intervened.

"What of the three who went aboard?"

"We don't know, my Queen," answered Falke. "We heard nothing."

"Did you bring your swords?"

Derek shook his head. "No, your Majesty, we were under a flag of truce."

She nodded, then fashioned two ice swords for them, concentrating and hardening the weapons until they would shatter steel. "Let's go find them."

It did not take long. Terrified, freezing, and completely demoralized, the sailors offered no resistance whatsoever, quickly directing her to the cabin where the three had been stowed. She blasted the locked door to splinters, brought the three into the bright morning sun, and got them reasonably thawed out before they all headed back to Arendelle.

. . .

. . .

The victory celebration involved the entire city and lasted the rest of the day. Garland-draped effigies of Elsa graced most of the buildings.

Almost the entirety of Arendelle's small military force trekked out to the bound ships to take their complement of sailors into custody, which took several hours. The gaol and the dungeon were nothing _**like**_ big enough to hold them all, so Elsa created a floating ice prison where all 720 of them could cool their heels until she decided what to do with them.

The captives were docile to the point of groveling, having been thoroughly cowed by Elsa's show of force. The day after their capture, one at a time, they were taken to a nearby guardhouse and interrogated. They all got to watch, eyes round, shivering in fear, as Elsa rode a small iceberg out into the fjord, lowered the ships back into the water, and banished the ice. That same day a contingent of arms experts and accountants spent many hours going through the ships and cataloguing what they found. Elsa, meanwhile, spent a great deal of time with her Council.

Every man of them felt that Hans, the Baron, and the assassins should be executed for high treason. About half of them felt the same way about the mercenaries (for that is what they were). Two of the schooners were of English make, one was an American privateer, and one was of German origin. The flagship was a French "74", and of fairly recent manufacture. The four leaders of the mercenaries maintained staunchly that the Prince had _**supplied**_ them with the flags and banners they flew, and had promised them the opportunity to loot the city when they took control. They hadn't really expected any kind of fight, and when the Queen's representatives informed them that Hans's delegation had been arrested and was currently enjoying the benefits of the royal dungeon, they'd panicked. Fearing mutiny if they told their men the mission was a bust, they'd opted instead to try to take the city on their own, and their shock and dismay at being put down hard by Elsa's power was just … enervating. They had no will left to fight. None of them knew any details about the supposed edict from King Charles, as none of the ships had ever been to Oslo.

This helped greatly to settle Elsa's mind on that score, at least. She truly did not want to have any sort of conflict with the much larger, much richer, much better armed nation that surrounded Arendelle on three sides. Even if she _**could**_ prevent a military incursion – and she felt confident that it wouldn't be a problem – the threat of embargo was very real, and cutting off all trade would hurt her people badly.

The morning of the third day, they had the Baron brought up for interrogation. After spending some time in the dark and damp, he was no longer the condescending peer. In fact, after just a few minutes of grilling, and having Elsa show him just how creative she could get with the forms her ice materializations could take, he confessed to not being a Baron at all. He was an actor, hired by Hans to play the part. The King's proclamation was a forgery, he _didn't_ know where Hans had procured a copy of the King's seal, he was _extremely_ sorry that he had gotten mixed up in this whole mess, he'd had _no idea_ that they were going to try to kill Elsa, he'd never even _seen_ the assassins until two days before they landed … and he wanted to know if they thought he'd done a creditable job pretending to be a member of the peerage.

Elsa had slapped him for that one.

She dismissed the Council and told them to go enjoy themselves. Take some time and spend it with their families. She declared a special day of rest, and announced that everyone who stopped into a tavern that day could have one free drink on her. She and Anna and Kristoff went on a short picnic excursion to the pleasant meadows east of the city, and had a delightful cold lunch. It was a happy day.

Happy, that is, for Arendelle. Not so much for Hans, where he languished in the lowest dungeon, strapped into the stocks.

Later that night, well after dark, later than she would normally be up and about, Elsa paced in her library. Finally coming to a decision, she trooped down to the dungeon, informed the guards that she wished to speak to Prince Hans alone, and was soon standing in front of his cell.

He was a sorry sight, stuck there with his head and arms locked in the rough wood. His court finery was a ragged, stinking ruin, since he was not allowed to move from that spot for any reason. Twice a day, the guards would give him a dipper of water and two small loaves of bread. But his own filth coated the insides of his breeches, and oozed through the expensive fabric to cake in evil stains on the surface.

She simply stood, regarding him for a few minutes before he raised his head and noticed her. Then he growled low in his throat. That led to a short coughing fit, but after a minute or so he turned his manic, bloodshot eyes her way. "Gloat while you can. My family has power. Not ridiculous ice power like yours. Real power. The power of life and death. You'll pay. Oh, how you'll pay for this insult. Blood and pain and …."

Standing quiet and unmoved while he rambled, she waited until he ran out of steam, and then offered, "I read up on the Kingdom of the Southern Isles after your first visit. The King and Queen are moral and upright people, and are known for being sticklers for following the rules. Your family, I feel quite sure, has no idea what you have been doing. They would have stopped you otherwise."

His glare, if anything, became more feral. But he didn't dispute what she said.

"I can't imagine that it was very cheap to hire those mercenaries. And I also can't imagine that your father would have allowed such a substantial withdrawal from the royal treasury. The Southern Isles are, at most, twice as large and prosperous as Arendelle, and such a sum would be missed." She rocked back and forth, heel to toe a few times. "Has it been missed already?"

He stared at her in hate for a quarter minute before dropping his eyes with a muttered, "Bitch."

"I suspected as much. So, while your family may, indeed, be looking for you, I seriously doubt it is for the purpose of a rescue."

He deflated as the tension slowly drained out of him. He had known all that. But knowing something is a very different thing versus internalizing and acknowledging it, and the consequences of his actions suddenly comprised a very bitter pill.

"So now we come to the crux of the matter. You have twice attempted to take my life. That constitutes high treason, for which in Arendelle the penalty is death. Actually, I could have had you executed that first time. But I was very new to the throne and under a lot of other stresses at the time. We have since _**more**_ than replaced the custom we lost in cutting economic ties with Weselton. We have been through one of the most brutal winters in anyone's memory. And we have prospered despite everything that has occurred. At any rate, I am no longer that girl. I am Queen of a blessed and happy land, and I intend to see to it that Arendelle _**stays**_ blessed and happy."

"Go to hell."

She gave him an abbreviated smirk. "As the saying goes, 'you first'. And I can certainly arrange that if it is your wish."

He turned his burning gaze her way again.

"I have decided to leave that decision in your hands. The assassins you hired will be executed tomorrow. Arendelle has no vested interest in keeping them alive. But you? You will spend the rest of your life in this dungeon. Never doubt that. However … how long that life turns out to be is up to you. You may request execution at any time. How was it you put it to me just a few days ago? Ah, yes: that is your choice."

A tortured howl accompanied his frenzied thrashing against the stocks. She observed his fit for a moment before turning and mounting the stairs.

. . .

. . .

_A/N:_

_Three cheers for Queen Elsa, then. It would seem that she makes for a very, very bad enemy._

_Stay tuned for the further adventures of the Snow Queen in Chapter 3: Interpretation, in which some new players enter the game._

_All comments welcome!_


	4. Interpretation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: New faces. New intrigues. What, really, would life be without them?_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 3: Interpretation**

. . .

. . .

Over the next week, nearly a hundred men spent every day-lit hour (and quite a few by lantern) going through the two schooners that showed the most damage from being tipped up vertical. They were completely stripped of any armaments, inspected, caulked, re-tooled where necessary, and docked near the floating ice prison. Elsa directed that all the foodstuffs from the five ships be loaded onto those two, and all their casks cleaned and filled. Then she sent for the four 'captains'. The German was the only one who knew how to speak (poorly) Norwegian, but all of them could get by passably in French, and Elsa was fluent.

She paced slowly back and forth in front of them as they knelt, shackled, on the flagstones. Finally she stopped, held each one's gaze in turn for a few seconds, and then said, "You did not declare war. For that matter, none of you has _standing_ to declare war. So your attack on the city can only have one possible legal meaning, and that is piracy."

The men popped a sheen of sweat.

Keeping her expression as deadpan as she could manage, she continued, "As I am sure you are aware, the penalty for piracy in any country in Europe is death by hanging. Time, place and circumstances matter not."

They held their peace, figuring nothing they could say would help, and would probably only make things worse. She hadn't killed them yet, and they were sure beyond argument that she could have at any time. All by herself, if she chose.

"However, I find that there are mitigating circumstances in your case. Prince Hans hired you under false pretenses. You thought his ascension to the throne of Arendelle was _fait accompli_, and you were there to see that it went off without a hitch." Allowing a small frown to come to rest above her eyes, she paused for effect. "It is for this reason, and one other, that your remains are not now being used to chum the water for the fishing fleet."

They were as still and as quiet as tombstones.

"The other reason is that no one was hurt. If I had not been able to completely stop your fusillade … if you had so much as _**bruised**_ one of my subjects …" Her countenance became, at that point a great deal more menacing. There is just something about a truly beautiful woman who is murderously angry that clamps a vice on one's attention and squeezes. She gave her head a miniscule shake. "Never mind hanging: I would have flayed every last one of you and buried you in salt." She took two steps forward and leaned toward them. A sudden field of jagged spikes of ice sprang from the floor, their tips pressing lightly here and there. A few tiny drops of blood welled up, a few tiny prickles of pain that promised so very much more. "And if any of you ever … _**EVER**_ … gets close to Arendelle again, I will make your deaths a byword to every sea-faring people who hears the story."

One of them whispered, "Thank you, your Majesty." The other three murmured agreement.

She moved off a bit. The spines of ice whiffed into tiny crystals and vanished. "This, then, is my decree. Two of your schooners have been stripped of weapons. You and your men will be placed aboard with all the provisions you brought with you. You will sail away, and you will neither slow nor look back."

The men glanced at each other, pale with fear. They knew quite well what would happen to them under those conditions if they ran across a naval vessel … or worse, pirates. She was leaving them their lives, but only temporarily. Their chances wouldn't be very good. Maybe they could sail north, hug the coast, eventually spin west and make it to Iceland? They could come up with a convincing story about being attacked by a privateer …

Elsa nodded to the guards, who lifted the men to their feet and marched them out. Her instructions were carried out within the hour.

And once the ships had rounded the point and were lost to sight, the Snow Queen hoped that would be the end of it.

. . .

. . .

_Seven Weeks Later, in Rome, in the dead of night_

Like a craggy spire of granite in a turbulent sea, The Vatican stood firm above the political turmoil of the Italian states.

That, at least, is what Leonardo told himself. But then, he told himself a lot of things. That he could be immortal, for example. Oh, it wasn't as if he could ignore the passage of time. That wasn't the issue. With age came the inevitable baldness and failing eyesight, the lack of strength and stamina, the weight gain and the gout and the constant limp. None of that could be denied. But he still fancied that he could leave a timeless legacy in the years he had left in this Mortal Coil.

It was not easy being the personal secretary to a great power, and he had come to terms with the fact that his physical conditions just made it that much more difficult. No, where he and reality parted ways was related to his more private endeavors, his hubris, his personal ambition. He had his eye on a promotion, and had been of that mindset for many years. If the old fart would just _**die**_, already!

He'd considered poison, but he was no apothecary, and there would be too many loose ends. A straight-up assassination, carried out by a hired professional, would fill the bill … except that such an act would stir up the College to the point where the infighting and maneuvering might drag out for years before a successor was chosen. No, if he were serious about becoming Pope …

His eye fell across a letter that had been delivered earlier that day.

If he wanted to be Pope … he would have to accomplish something truly great. And he would have to do it in such a way as to garner all the credit for himself.

Of course he had assistants. Secretaries of his own, among other, less savory aides. They were necessary, considering the many strands he had cast in his subtle web of power and greed and deceit.

At first the letter had gotten him **most** exercised. Failure was failure, after all, even if no one knew he had been involved. But the more he thought about it, the more he contemplated the remaining options, the more his twisted intellect worked over the conundrum … the more he felt that he could turn this setback to his advantage.

He picked up the missive in his knobby, arthritic fingers and read it again:

_To His Eminence,  
Leonardo, Cardinal Papella,  
Archbishop of Lucca_

_These thirteen days past were Captur'd  
two Schooners of British manuf __re__.  
Ships stripped they were of Weapons  
and thru loaded with 720 Men plus  
Victuals and Grog.  
A fanciful Tayle the men did tell  
of a northern Queene who took from them  
their Ships thru Blackest Wytchcraft,  
with command over the  
Elements most Foul.  
A Boon they did beg of all  
who would Hear, to give them  
Vengeance 'gainst this Wicked Wytch.  
And many to their Pleas did heark'n.  
But know, Your Eminence, that some  
did call to Mind that these Men,  
far from being the  
Innocent and wretch'd Victims  
they claimed, were in fact  
bloody PIRATES,  
and thru divers Means and Synes  
and Markings upon their Flesh,  
they came to be known for the  
terrible Murderers they be.  
They were Hanged forthwith._

_Sworn and attested to in London  
by Lan __fd__ Compton  
this 24__rth__ Day of Aprille  
in the Year of Our Lord MDCCCXX_

The letter was already nearly a month old! Would that he had a more … _present_ means of communication. But he didn't trust pigeons, and couriers drew too much attention.

No matter. Everyone else suffered that same lack, and it was one he could deal with.

So. That could only mean that Prince Hans's fat head was decorating a pike on Arendelle's city wall. If the Ice Witch had taken the ships, then she knew about the plot. Leonardo nodded to himself. It was wise indeed to keep his identity in this endeavor secret. Hans didn't know that his contribution to paying for the mercenary fleet was only about half of what they had charged. As puffed up and self-important as he was, it would never have occurred to him to wonder … and besides, Leonardo's agents were skilled.

Ah, well. Hans was no longer in the picture. His pawn could be removed from the board.

But … the old man reflected with distaste … all this settled out into one crucial fact: Elsa of Arendelle, that unnatural creature, that abomination, still drew breath. And that, he thought, his eyes glinting red in the candle's glow, was a state of affairs that would have to be corrected.

Soon.

He drew a sheet of parchment from a drawer, wet his quill, and began to write.

. . .

. . .

_July 10th, 1820: Arendelle_

Lief spotted Kristoff the moment he stumbled in and had a stein of strong brown ale waiting on him by the time he got to the bar. The Royal Ice Harvester downed it in four long swallows, clanked it back to the polished wood, and said, "Again."

"You know, you don't have to feel like you need to support my custom all on your own."

"Just. Pour."

He did, and that stein met the same fate as its predecessor. _Clank_. "Again."

"Come on, Kristoff, it can't be that bad!"

"She made me look at dresses for _five hours!"_

"… Oh." He poured the ale. "Maybe it _**is**_ that bad."

"I was seeing crinoline every time I closed my eyes!" He took a long swallow and wiped his mouth. "How do they even _**do**_ that? She and Elsa had to comment and get my view point on every God-damned scrap of lace or chunk of velvet! They all just looked like dresses! What the hell was I supposed to say?"

"I take it you made her mad?"

"Boiling! I wasn't 'being serious' or I didn't 'pay attention' or I was 'trying to hurt her feelings'!" He flung an arm wide, spilling a little of his drink. "Feelings, hell! I was trying to stay awake!"

"Did she cry?"

He sighed. "She's probably _**still**_ crying. Elsa ordered me off."

"She'll get over it. It's just wedding jitters. Happens to all of 'em."

"That's as may be. But I don't have to _**put up**_ with all of 'em. Just her."

Lief cocked a brow and gave him half a smile. "Is she worth it?"

"Hell, yes!"'

"Heh! Didn't hafta think about _**that**_ answer very long."

"That's not the point! I love her. She knows that. I'll do anything she asks. Anything at all. But it's … it's like she expects me to _**be**_ something I'm not. I was raised by trolls, for God's sake! How am I supposed to even _**have**_ an opinion about the 'merits of a full or half off-shoulder drape'?!"

"Okay, now you're speakin' a whole 'nother language."

"Exactly! They'd go into exhausting detail explaining each and every little piddly, useless, invisible difference in the dresses. Do you have any idea how many shades of _**white**_ there are? It's insane!"

"Kris … I'm sorry, man. But it's, what, three weeks to the wedding?"

"Twenty-two days." He peered over at the clock behind the bar. "Less about four hours."

"You'll live."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." Lief held out his hand for the stein. Kristoff drained the last swallow and passed it over, shortly receiving it back full. "That one's on the house."

"You're my hero, Lief."

"Eh. Hero, bartender. Pretty much the same thing."

. . .

. . .

In truth, Anna had calmed down shortly after her fiancé left. Elsa talked to her, smoothly and delicately, for quite some time. It didn't have the numbing effect of ale, but it did help the girl see more clearly. She ended up in a pout. "Well, poo. I bet Kris is mad at me now."

"No."

"But after what he had to sit through, and what you said about …"

"Again, no. I'm not saying he isn't mad. But I am quite sure he isn't mad _at you."_

"… Huh?"

"He was frustrated, and getting more so by the minute. He couldn't understand what we were doing, and that bothered him because he just wants to make you happy, and if circumstances prevent him from doing that … well, it makes him mad. He's a man, Anna. He fixes things. If you go to him with a problem, he's going to look at it like it's a challenge and he has to defeat it."

"… Boy, _**that's**_ real different from the way I talk to _**you**_ about things."

"Thus my point."

"You know I've noticed that about him. He's always fixing something!"

"He is action-oriented, not emotion-oriented."

"Huh." She wagged a finger back and forth between herself and Elsa. "And we just talk over the way we feel about stuff."

"Correct. He is a man. I am not."

"Ha!" She stared pointedly at Elsa's generous bosom. "That's for darn sure!"

Elsa smirked. "Feminine pulchritude aside, men simply don't think in the same ways that we do."

"Hmph," she grumped. "Seems like to me about half the time, he doesn't think at all."

"Now you're getting it," giggled Elsa. She placed a hand on her sister's shoulder. "So you can rest easy."

"… About what?"

"The next time you two are lazing about together, and he isn't saying anything, and you ask what's on his mind, and he says, 'Nothing.'? You can put your mind at ease that he isn't being evasive. He's telling the truth. He really and truly isn't thinking about anything at all."

"How can they _**do**_ that?"

"I haven't a clue. That's just the way they are. If there isn't something to do, they're just as likely as not to turn their thoughts off."

"… Weird." She thought that over for a moment and then pulled Elsa into a tight hug. "How'd you get so smart?"

"Listening to women who are more experienced than I." She smirked, and added, "And paying attention to the Council in all those meetings. If even the wisest among us do it, I have no doubt that Kristoff follows suit."

"Are you insulting my fiancé's intelligence?"

"Not in the least. But a man is a man is a man. We must all learn how to deal with them."

. . .

. . .

_July 14th_

Elsa had very wisely ordered the construction of two relatively large hostels. There were dozens of extra rooms in the palace, of course, but she rather thought there would be _hundreds_ of visitors of rank coming in for the wedding, and the situation with the existing inns was inadequate.

The first one was complete, and actually already had three guests. In the second, workers were adding the finishing touches here and there. Kristoff was directing the placement of the ice blocks in the basement, making sure they were properly packed in sawdust and stacked just so, to make it easy for the staff to extract a block when needed.

He'd just dusted off his hands, satisfied with the blanketing, and had turned to follow the lead scullery back up to the kitchen … but he stopped dead when he saw Anna standing in the doorway. Her eyes were just the tiniest bit puffy, as if she had not _been_ crying, but had _wanted_ to. And her lower lip trembled with the effort of holding the tears back.

He gathered her into his arms in an instant. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Her voice muffled by his shirt, she whimpered, "Can't we just elope and be done with it?"

_Oh._ "Um … I think Elsa would kill me deader than dead if I tried it."

"I just can't take it!" The tears tracked down her cheeks. "I never dreamed there would be so much to do! So many details! So much to memorize!"

He blew a rude breath. "I'm with you there. I don't know why we can't just read our vows."

"Stupid traditions."

"It's only another eighteen days or so, Anna. We can manage, can't we, love?" He stroked her braids. "My little Honey-Hair?"

She rewarded his small attempt at humor with a watery giggle. Then she turned those incredible eyes up to him and whispered, "I know what would make me feel a lot better."

The blood scampered out of his brain and headed south in a stampede. "Whoa. You know what the Quee-"

"I know what Elsa said. I don't care. Forget her." She hugged him tighter. "All that nonsense about propriety will be moot in two weeks. I'm _**not**_ pregnant yet, and if I _**get**_ pregnant today, nobody will know. And I won't care. It's gonna happen sooner or later, and I'm _**so **__**okay**_ with that you just wouldn't believe it." She moved her hands up to cup his cheeks, craning her head back to make sure he knew how serious she was. "I need it. I need you. Now."

Finding a vacant room they could secure wasn't a problem. Keeping quiet enough so as not to give away their position? _**That**_ was a chore. Kristoff resorted to giving her the wadded up end of a pillowcase to bite.

. . .

. . .

_July 21 rst_

As with any city, Arendelle had its underworld. Crime is a stable facet of the human condition, and there will always be those who flout the law for one reason or another. Perhaps they like the challenge of treading on the edge. Or perhaps they are too stupid or unskilled to do anything that smacks of useful work. In any case, the gaols were rarely empty.

_Violent_ crime rates were very low. The city of Arendelle usually saw only two or three murders in any given year, and not all that many strong-arm robberies or assaults. And usually the "assaults" were between a couple of drunks.

Property crime was another matter. There were two locksmiths in town who did a brisk custom because of sneak-thieves and second-story men. Sharpers and confidence men and swindlers passed through a lot more regularly than the Captain of the Watch would have liked. But most days, all things being taken into consideration, Arendelle was a peaceful and pleasant place to live.

Anna's wedding had turned all that on its ear.

The huge influx of peers and rich traders and powerful businessmen had attracted the unsavory elements of society like iron filings to a lodestone. The Watch began getting daily complaints, and then almost hourly complaints, with demands that Something Be Done. The Captain worked with the Harbormaster to try to police those arriving day after day after day, but the docks were difficult to manage under normal traffic loads, and besides that there were any number of landing-spots along the fjord that weren't controlled at all. So the criminal element swelled to alarming proportions.

The Watch began doing sweeps through some of the lower-class neighborhoods, trying to flush out the riff-raff, but that had limited success. They finally hit on the idea of hiring out the men as guards for those who hadn't brought their own. Not only did that protect most of the guests, it also put a little extra coin the Watch's pockets.

So then the thieves began working in small teams. And a few of the victims got roughed up pretty badly.

And the Watch began working in sets of three. They caught a few of the robbers, and killed two in one really ugly incident.

And the thieves responded by forming gangs. The Undersecretary for Commerce of the Austrian Trade Union was attacked and left for dead. He was being treated at the palace, but hadn't regained consciousness. The fifteen-year-old daughter of the Moldavian ambassador narrowly escaped being raped. Her family had left the next day, disgusted that Arendelle had become such a lawless cesspool. And one of the Watch patrols was ambushed and filled full of arrows.

With royal permission, the Captain of the Watch instituted a "deadly force" rule. That night there was a pitched battle on Tannery Street. Sixteen thugs were killed and seven captured. Four of the Watch died.

And that's how things stood this humid Wednesday afternoon.

. . .

. . .

Dandrus Miklovic had been a lot of things in his thirty years. Apprentice mason. Smuggler. Horse thief. Tracker. Hired killer. Robber baron. He'd been all over Europe, and there was a price on his head in most countries. But Scandinavia hadn't heard of him yet, so he could move about with relative freedom. That allowed him to put together a gang of some of the worst cutthroats in Arendelle, and he took full advantage of it. Over the previous three nights they had waylaid no fewer than eight groups, and their bags were getting full. He figured to keep it up until the wedding, then kill the rest of the gang, take the loot, and move to the Americas. He could move into the Mississippi Valley somewhere, buy a thousand acres or so, and live like a king. Money opened all kinds of doors, as he had learned.

His gang had staked out a spot near the docks where they could watch for new arrivals. He'd learned pretty quick that the Watch had taken the gloves off, and he wasn't interested in war. He wanted an easy mark. That meant someone who hadn't had a chance to hire a guard yet.

The small galley currently tied up would fit the bill nicely. He'd seen a few of the passengers disembark, but no one who looked like he had enough gold on him to make it worth their …

Hold on.

Oh, yes.

The man who strode down the bridge and stepped onto the dock was tall and lean, probably a Spaniard, if Dandrus was any judge. He walked as if he owned the place, and positively dripped gold. Chains, a pendant, a brooch with a red stone, several rings. And he was alone.

Oops, wait. Not alone. The man was talking with some short, gray-haired fellow, obviously a servant. Okay, now he was pointing eastward in the direction of the palace. Heh. Very good. The servant took off at a trot, leaving Mr. Moneybags on the dock.

The Spaniard surveyed the area for a few moments, slowly turning to familiarize himself with various landmarks (the same as Dandrus would do in his place). Then he set off at a measured pace toward the north.

Dandrus signaled his men, and followed.

. . .

. . .

Carlos (for that was the Spaniard's name) needed to scope out the lay of the land. He knew that much of his information was out of date, but a word with the Harbormaster had relieved him of some of his anxiety. The Snow Queen still lived, and the wedding was still on. He had been advised to only travel in groups, as crime was very bad at present. Carlos had thanked him for the tip, and promptly ignored it.

He had meant to make a circuit of the main part of the city before turning in for the night, but it proved to be a good bit larger than he'd been led to believe. Either he would make the circuit and finish up in the wee hours, or he'd start tonight and finish in the morning. He hadn't yet made up his mind either way.

He walked along steadily, not varying his pace at all as he traced out various paths, memorized the placement of buildings, and tried to come to grips with the local tongue. Norwegian was not a language in his current lexicon, but he planned to fix that soon. He listened to snatches of it here and there, deciding that it was distantly related to German, though the syntax seemed rather different. He shortly decided that it was a pretty language (prettier than German at any rate) and looked forward to picking it up.

The semi-main boulevard he trod got narrower as he walked, eventually offering him a choice among three … well, they could hardly be more than alleys. He chose the one in the middle and entered. Two dozen paces later, four large men stepped out in front of him. Three carried clubs, the fourth a sword.

_Oh, ho! And I thought tonight would be boring._

He heard the other members of the gang close in behind him. A rough voice demanded, in broken Spanish, "Take off first necklace. You run, we kill."

He turned. They numbered six, and the one who had spoken was one of the biggest, ugliest …

A moment of recognition. The ghost of a smile wandered across his lips. In Romanian, he said, "You're Dandrus Malkovic. I never actually anticipated meeting you."

That brought the thief up short for a moment before he grinned. "If you know of me, then you must know what I want."

"That goes without saying."

"You are Spanish, though, yes?"

"I am."

"How do you know me?"

Carlos cracked his knuckles and slid two long daggers from hidden sheaths. "You killed a friend of mine three years ago."

Thirty-seven seconds later, Carlos strolled out the other end of the alley, the very picture of nonchalance. It would be nearly an hour before the Watch discovered the ten corpses.

. . .

. . .

_A/N: Eric Hoffer had this to say at one juncture:_

"_The less justified a man is in claiming excellence for his own self, the more ready he is to claim all excellence for his nation, his religion, his race or his holy cause. A man is likely to mind his own business when it is worth minding. When it is not, he takes his mind off his own meaningless affairs by minding other people's business."_

_There are few things in this life more dangerous than a fool with a holy cause, as Elsa is about to learn._

_All comments welcome!_


	5. Consternation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: There's nothing like uncertainty to spice things up. Especially when it involves a high body count._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 4: Consternation**

. . .

. . .

Supper was in the final preparation stages in the palace kitchens. Gerda was directing the setup of the dining room. Kai was doing a quick hall meeting with three of the pages and collecting all the appointment cards that came in that day. And Anna was in the study, arguing with Elsa about yet another point of etiquette related to her upcoming nuptials. Elsa was only listening with half an ear because her mind was consumed with what to do about the rising tide of crime in the city. Two more murders and six robberies just in the last twenty-four hours! The Watch was swamped, people were afraid to walk anywhere by themselves, and the latest reports indicated that it was spilling out to the countryside as well. She'd had no idea there were that many crooks, thugs, and bully boys in all of Scandinavia, and it seemed as if _every last one_ had decided to pick on Arendelle just when …

"Are you even _**listening**_ to me?"

Closing her eyes and drawing a long breath, Elsa lifted her head and met her sister's frustrated gaze. "I'm sorry, Anna. Truthfully, I've only heard about every third word."

"_**OOOOOHHHHH!"**_

"Yes, you are right to be upset. I said I would work with you on a solution, and I've been … distracted."

"You're not even _here!_ I might as well be talking to the candelabra!"

Elsa placed a weary hand against her forehead, trying to fight down her headache by willpower alone. "I am truly sorry. The city is being taken over by thieves and killers, and I'm afraid I don't have enough mental capacity to deal with that and planning a wedding."

Anna sort of slumped. "Well … huh … when you put it like that? My problems seem kinda … small."

"They aren't small to you."

"Yeah, well." She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "I know you've said comparisons are never fair, but still." Glancing up, she caught her sister's gaze. "Did … did anyone get hurt?"

"Two people were badly beaten, just since yesterday … and one couple … was killed."

A hand flew to her throat as Anna gasped. "Killed? Like … _**murdered?"**_

Elsa only nodded.

"But … but how …"

"You didn't really have any way to know about it, or gauge the difference. You've mostly been in the palace over the last couple of weeks. When you _have_ gone out, you've had a guard detail."

"… I, uh, wondered about that."

"It simply isn't safe to move about alone anymore."

Anna blushed, recalling a few recent times when she _**had**_ been out alone. That is, until she met up with Kristoff. "Is that why there are so many …"

There came a knock at the door.

Elsa looked up and said, "Come!"

The Captain of the Watch poked his head in the door. "Your Majesty? I have some … unusual news that I feel certain you would want to know."

She motioned him in. He glanced over at Anna, then back at the Queen. "It's, um, fairly sensitive."

The Princess put up both hands. "Not my deal. Got it." She pointed at Elsa. "I'll see you at supper?"

"Certainly."

"Okay. Um, I'm, uh, sorry about …"

"Don't worry. I'll handle it." _Somehow._

Anna nodded and wandered off.

Turning her attention back to the Captain, she asked, with dread in her heart, "What's your news, Jørgen?"

He placed a thin stack of reports on her desk. "Nine patrols have, in the last three hours, discovered fifty-seven bodies."

The light in the room seemed to dim as a roaring sound filled her ears. Elsa grabbed the edge of the desk and then leaned forward against it, eyes wide, mouth working. "… Fifty … fifty … seven …"

Jørgen held up a hand. "Wait. To the best of our ability to determine, all fifty-seven were members of criminal gangs."

She sat up, blinking at him. "… What?"

He walked over to the map of Arendelle that hung on the wall. "The first ones were found here, in an alley behind the Queen's Head. Seven, dead only minutes, perhaps seconds. Then a group of six was found here, near the chandler's shop." He pointed out two locations and used two of the pins that were ready to hand in a cushion beside the map to mark them. "Then there was a group of eight we found in Scatterback Street. Halstadt's bunch. Been tryin' to collar him for a month." Another pin. "Then we found six here beside the cistern for Butcher's row. Then ten just southeast of there, in Tramp's Alley, not far from the docks. We're pretty sure they were the first to die." Two more pins. "One of that group was Dandrus Malkovic."

"Is … that name supposed to mean something?"

"He's durable, or he _was_; a real survivor, and extremely bad news. Supposed to have killed upwards of a hundred men, half of 'em with his bare hands."

"… Oh."

"Then three patrols found three more groups …" He walked back to the desk and picked up the top sheet from the stack. "… Right. Four here, and five here, and five more … here." He placed the pins and then looked back at the sheet. "And as I was coming over here to talk with you about it, a runner came up and told me about another group of six they'd just found." He placed the last pin, turned to her and assumed parade rest.

"Jørgen … are you _completely_ sure these were all … criminals?"

He nodded. "Malkovic and his gang were a given, ditto Halstadt. Many of the others were already known to us in some way. The rest? We can be fairly certain that they comprised gangs of robbers. We recovered bags of coin and jewels from five of the groups."

She had to trust his judgment. Jørgen Fjelstad was a grizzled fellow, a contemporary of her father's, and a man her father had trusted. The fifth son of a very minor landless Norwegian noble, he'd seen combat in two wars, could think on his feet, and took his job very seriously.

Elsa tried to think of something to say. "… But … how …"

"All of them died the same way, by a stab to the heart or a slash to the throat, using a long, thin dagger. The strikes were uniformly fatal, and very, very precise. No victim was struck more than once."

She sat and processed that for a moment. "… Are you saying that … that _**one man**_ killed them all?"

"That's what the evidence seems to show."

"I'm … I'm sorry. I'm having a little trouble … taking this all in."

"As did I. It would seem that we have a vigilante of sorts, and he is making a large dent in the criminal population." He turned back to the map. "As you can see, the pattern of killings makes a rough arc running from just north of the dock up and around the perimeter. We've got patrols combing the areas ahead of there now, but I haven't heard anything." He went over and took the second sheet from the stack. "This is a list of the stolen property we recovered. Not much we can do about the coin in a lot of cases because they're usually kronor, but some of the foreign coins might lead us back to whomever it was stolen from. And some of the pieces of jewelry are distinctive enough that a description could return it."

"… Wait. Wait a moment. This … this vigilante killed these men … and left the spoils with the corpses?"

"He did. That's another reason why I'm sure this is the work of one man."

"One extremely _dangerous_ man."

"That's my next point."

"Do you think he just got here?"

"We do. I talked with the Harbormaster, and there was only one new ship docked today. Everyone was off by half past one, and the killings started before two. I've got copies of the manifest in the hands of five patrols. They're going to the closest inns, and the new hotels. We may be able to discover his identity by process of elimination. And we really do need to find him."

They talked for a while longer, Elsa asking a lot of questions and getting fewer answers than she liked. After the Captain left, she sat at her desk with her chin resting on laced fingers and just thought about the situation.

On the one hand, by Jørgen's estimate, some fifteen or twenty percent of the violent criminals in the city had died that afternoon. That could only be viewed as a good thing. If the rest of the criminal element found out about this deadly threat to their activities, maybe they would just leave.

On the other hand, though, that meant that there was someone roaming the streets who could deal out death like a _regiment_ of assassins, and that did _**not**_ leave her feeling sanguine about this state of affairs. Who was he? Why was he here? Did he pose a threat to her, personally? To Arendelle in general? Just because he was targeting the wicked now, did that necessarily mean he would leave the honest folk alone? What if he was unhinged? A crazy man with the skill-set he evidenced was a very frightening thing.

Her stomach growled at her, reminding her of her promise to Anna. With a heavy sigh, she rose and made her way down to the dining room.

. . .

. . .

After their evening meal, Elsa and Anna retired to the Princess's room to go over the day's announcement cards. Elsa was meeting with some of the visitors on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and tried each evening previous to go through all the requests for audience and plan out the next day's meetings.

She would see peers and nobility in the morning in four half-hour meetings from ten until noon. Then she would see the less-noble-but-still-important types from two to five in twelve fifteen-minute meetings. It was almost entirely formality, and no real business was conducted, but she was able to feel out each of them to see if there was potential for trade agreements, grounds for an alliance, or warning signs of hostility. She got regular doses of all three.

To date, with eight days' worth of these episodes come and gone, she reflected that fewer of them had been pleasant than she had hoped. Some of the visitors got belligerent, some were rude or unprepared, some were obviously frightened of her and her powers, and some made unwanted advances (until things got rather more chilly than they found comfortable). But enough of the meetings produced positive results that she felt good about the practice.

Anna held up a card. "Huh."

"What is it?"

"Have we seen anyone from Spain yet?"

"I haven't, personally. That doesn't mean there's no one in the city of that stripe. Why, is that from a Spaniard?"

"Yep. Appears so." She flicked the card at Elsa, who nicked it out of the air expertly and read it. "My goodness. _Carlos Fernandez Jacinto Enrique Diego de la Maria._ They do go in for their long names, don't they?" She worked through the rest of the card and frowned. "My Spanish isn't very good, but I think this says he's a minor noble of some sort. Isn't that what _'hidalgo'_ means?"

"You're asking me?"

"According to Kai, you've had more Spanish lessons than I have."

Anna allowed herself a guilty grin. "There's the lesson, and then there's remembering it."

Elsa answered her grin with a wry one of her own and a sigh. She studied her calendar briefly, scratched through a name and wrote his instead into a spot at the bottom of the next day's agenda. "There. Guess I'll find out what an _hidalgo_ looks like tomorrow."

"You up to doin' some for next week?"

Elsa considered it, but then shook her head. "I really should talk with Captain Fjelstad again before we go to bed."

As if by magic, there came a knock on the door and Gerda stepped in. "Ah, there you are. Jørgen was looking for you."

Biting her lip, she asked, "Did he say what for?"

"Just that it was important. And he's got one of those foreign types with him."

That made her sit up. "Does he look … Spanish?"

Gerda just blinked a couple of times. "And I'd know what Spanish looks like … how, exactly?"

"Sorry."

"He's blonde, if that helps."

It didn't. Elsa shrugged and stood. "Tell him to meet me in my study."

. . .

. . .

The young man, it transpired, was English; he was also fluent in Norwegian, having spent three years in school in Oslo. And he had quite a tale to tell.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Neville Harcourt, eldest son of the Baron Teynham. My fiancée and I came here as much for the pleasure of the trip as to wish your Princess well, and everything was wonderful until this evening. We had been urged to hire a guard due to a late increase in robberies, and had secured a pair of likely men from the Watch. I have a bit of skill with the rapier, and said so to the Harbormaster, but he was quite insistent. So yesterday we toured your lovely city. The principle cathedral is quite breathtaking, by the way.

"In any case, we did not encounter any difficulties at all, nor did we witness anything untoward. I believe now, to my chagrin, that it was pure luck that we were not accosted sooner. At any rate, when we decided to go out and sample the fare at the taverns this evening, we neglected to hire a guard."

Elsa had a pretty good idea where this was going.

"Our high tea was quite nice, featuring an excellent bit of cod and some truly remarkable ale."

Jørgen put in, "They went to the Cook and Kettle."

The Queen nodded. She knew of their talent with seafood, and the bright golden ale for which they were justly well-known.

"Henrietta and I were on our way back to the hostel when four ruffians blocked our way. I stepped in front of her and drew my sword, but the man who faced me was taller, wider, and a great deal stronger than I. He beat my weapon aside by sheer force and then we were handled most discourteously … but only for a few breaths.

"One of the ruffians made an extremely ill-mannered jest about Henrietta, and I fear she swooned. I was struggling to prevent his carrying out his threat, when this knife simply appeared in his head. It was the most remarkable thing, and I could not help but stare. A bare instant later, another appeared in the temple of the man who was holding me. Both men simply fell to earth like wet cloaks.

"Then there was another man there in the street with us. I did not see him arrive. He moved that quickly. There was a flurry of movement between one breath and the next, and then the other two ruffians slumped over, dead.

"It was dusk, and overcast, as you know, and the light was bad. Our rescuer moved like quicksilver around a bowl, never pausing, each motion fading into the next with baffling speed. I was lightly buffeted out of the way as he bent over the first two and retrieved his knives. And then he was gone."

Elsa looked at Jørgen. "Did you get a description?"

"Not much of one. Neville, here, thinks he had dark hair. And he was tall. But he just moved too damned fast – begging your grace – to get a good look."

"I have been informed," continued the Englishman, "that this fellow is a vigilante, and is only lately arrived." He shook his head with a rueful smile. "Glad I am that he decided to intervene. Poor Henrietta is still in our room, recovering."

Elsa thanked him for his information, and a servant ushered him out. She and Jørgen looked at each other for the space of three breaths before he said, "I can't quite bring myself to wish this man any ill fortune."

"I know precisely how you feel."

The Captain let his head fall forward momentarily but then he straightened back up. "He's not the only one. Neville, I mean."

"Oh?"

"We had reports of two other … interventions. A total of eleven more thugs, which brings the grand total so far to seventy-two. We're making a large pile of them well south of town. Most of them didn't smell very good when they were alive, and I certainly don't want to have that charnel stench blowing through the city."

Elsa's voice was a little faint. "Certainly not."

He gave her an abbreviated salute and walked to the door. "Well, I won't take up anymore of your time. But I felt you would want to be kept abreast of matters."

"Thank you, Captain."

Her dreams that night were energetic, and filled with quickly-flowing shadows that never quite became clear enough to see. It was not restful sleep.

. . .

. . .

_A/N: Some blessings are mixed. Some only look that way._

_All comments welcome!_


	6. Investigation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: It's hard to conduct an intrigue from several hundred miles away. Makes it difficult to keep one's finger on the pulse of the situation, especially when someone else is busy dismantling it._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 5: Investigation**

. . .

. . .

Carlos Fernandez Jacinto Enrique Diego de la Maria was as nonplussed about the situation in Arendelle as he had been about _anything_ in many, many, many years. While it did cover a few square miles, sprawling out over the rough terrain like a child's blocks spilled across the yard, the place just barely qualified as a 'city' when considering the number of people who called it home. And yet there were hundreds – perhaps _several_ hundreds – of hard-bitten criminals currently stalking the place, many times more than the economy could support. Even with the upcoming festivities, it made no sense! He'd lost count of the number of times he'd had to clean his blades in the last four hours, and he felt sure that at least _some_ of the vermin he'd exterminated would eventually be tied back to him. There had, after all, been a few witnesses among the people he'd saved. It was almost like a few of the wars he'd fought in, except that the vast majority of the thugs had no idea how to properly handle a weapon.

He stood in the shadows beside one of the city's taverns (and there were a LOT of those) and surveyed the area. At present, the only people out and about in the city center were members of the Watch, or people with bodyguards. The Harbormaster had warned him about the recent increase in crime, but Carlos felt that he had drastically understated the case. If everyone was too afraid to leave their homes on their own recognizance, it was only a matter of time before this society collapsed.

Perhaps, he mused, that was the point. He thought back to the conversation he had overheard in the Vatican that had urged him toward Arendelle in the first place …

_Tales of the 'Snow Queen' had sped all over Europe and into north Africa and the Middle East, but most people dismissed them as, let's say, overly fanciful. Carlos, however, had taken the story very seriously. He could hardly do otherwise. So he made up his mind to go and visit Elsa of Arendelle at some point, and see whether or not she might be a 'kindred spirit'._

_At home, the latest political nonsense was the uprising against Ferdinand VII to reinstate the Constitution of 1812, and that conflict held no interest to Carlos apart from how it might affect his estates. Basically indifferent to the latest civil war's outcome, he had moved out of Andalusia and taken up residence in Rome under a name he'd used there in the past. That facet of his multi-layered character had a reputation as an exceedingly reliable courier, and he was able to keep himself entertained by dabbling in the wealth of intrigues that ebbed and flowed through the Vatican._

_He'd delivered a sealed missive to the Pope's personal secretary, a slimy old fart that Carlos would have cheerfully ushered off to the next plane of existence with less than half an excuse. But, as he didn't feel like running from Church agents for the next fifty years, he refrained. However, getting some dirt on Cardinal Stench was just 'playing the game well' as far as he was concerned. He secreted himself and listened._

_What he heard had shocked and alarmed him. The Cardinal was going after Elsa of Arendelle with all his resources. Teams had been dispatched already!_

_He knew he didn't have a lot of time. He'd sailed out of Rome, heading north, two days later._

So now he pondered the question. Could the Cardinal have engineered this appalling influx of criminals? It didn't take Carlos long to determine how the rancid old sinner may have done it … and he had _certainly_ evinced the necessary levels of blackest spleen where Queen Elsa was concerned. Carlos doubted that horrid man would lose a second's sleep over all the lives lost in his campaign of hate.

That realization merely firmed up his resolve. Looking around at the Square again, he ran through a few possible methods for fixing the problem, and realized that he currently stood woefully short of hard information. Getting it meant that he would need to change his clothes, and he didn't know where Juan had secured a room for them, so ...

He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and emptied his mind, an exercise that came automatically after so many decades of practice. The astral landscape billowed into existence, and for most of a minute he surveyed it carefully.

… _there …_

He had Juan's location pinned. Allowing the silvery-gray expanse to blur into the background noise it usually was, Carlos opened his eyes, a tiny smile flitting across his features. There were at least four gangs of robbers between him and his liege-man. He strolled off in that direction, hands empty, a low, tuneless whistle announcing his presence to anyone who might be interested in the contents of his purse.

. . .

. . .

When the door to the suite opened, Juan looked up from the book he'd been reading and grinned, pleased that Carlos had found him … so he could get in a dig. "I felt you that time. You're slipping, old man."

Carlos shrugged, unperturbed. "I wasn't trying to be subtle about it."

Juan marked his place and rose, his smooth, coordinated movements belying the gray in his beard. "I hear you've been stirring up some excitement in town."

"More like excitement came looking for me."

"As usual, then."

"It seems Fate would have it no other way."

Juan crossed his arms, his grin growing. "So … how many?"

"You expect me to keep accounts of the roaches I step on?"

The liege-man just waited, his smirk in place.

"Fine. Ninety-six."

"Oh-ho! The biggest rumor I heard was no more than half that."

"Several of them are very recent." He moved to the wardrobe. "I need the sandy set."

"Have you eaten?" Juan indicated a cold plate covered with a white cloth. "I had them bring up some fruit and cheese. And have a look at this." He pointed to a small keg off to the side. "These people know their ales. Don't know if you've tried any yet …"

"Not yet. But I plan to remedy that soon." Carlos stepped over and whipped off the cover to examine the offerings. "Hmm. Not bad for as far north as we are." He sampled a crisp slice of pear, and had to chase a drip of juice down his chin. The cheese was rather sharper than he normally liked, but complemented the pear well. "This has possibilities."

Juan had drawn him a tall glass of a light golden liquid with a short, frothy head. "Here. Try this."

_*sniff*_ "My, my." _*sip-swish-swallow*_ Carlos's eyes slid shut, and he murmured, "By the saints!" He took a longer gulp, then set the glass down and just smiled. "I could learn a thing or two about brewing around here."

"The hosteler says they ship this stuff all over northern Europe. But they keep the best right here."

"That I can well believe." He picked the glass back up and looked at the ale. "Hmm. Filtered. And it still has a wonderfully complex finish." He took another deep swallow and smacked his lips. "Well. I can think of one good reason to make a home here."

"You say that now. Have you ever lived through one of these northern winters?"

"As a matter of fact, I have."

Juan stared at him. "I've known you almost thirty years, and you still manage to spring stuff on me."

"Can't help that."

"And the cold made no difference?"

"No." He tossed off the rest of the glass and placed it on the side table. "Why would it?"

"Heh. Why, indeed?" Juan shook his head. "Must be nice."

"It has its advantages." Carlos rummaged through the wardrobe and pulled out a large leather sack. Dumping its contents on the floor, he shook out a very plain tunic and a set of patched breeches. A worn, crumpled hat rolled free as well. "Where are the boots?"

"Still in the wardrobe." Juan chuckled. "Losing your eyesight, too?"

"Har-har." Carlos retrieved the footwear and began to disrobe.

"You'll only be welcome at about two out of three taverns in that sad, sorry getup."

"Doesn't matter. Not trying to make a good impression, and all I'm after is information."

The other man tossed him a short salute. "Good hunting."

. . .

. . .

"God save Queen Elsa!"

Carlos raised his mug with the others when the cry rang out in the long, dim room. He had heard it so often this night he was beginning to suspect it was some sort of mantra. But to a man, they all seemed sincere. He turned back to the large, burly blonde sitting beside him, and prodded, "Jyou viss sayingk?" (He was picking up the language, but was still at the point where it was a lot easier to understand than speak.)

"Oh, yeah. So there she was, her sister nothin' but a ice statue, and she just broke down cryin' like fit t' die. Awfulest thing I ever seen. She was hangin' onto th' Princess like her life was over."

This was the second time Carlos had heard this exact story. Still, his heart raced with anticipation of the outcome. "An den?"

"Well … the Princess come back t' life. I gots t' tell ya, I near-bouts squawled myse'f. She started thawin' out from th' middle 'til th' ice turned all back inta her, an' she's as spry an' lively as ever."

This was _**extremely**_ critical information. That Queen Elsa's magic extended to suspending life and then reanimating it was monumentally significant. Carlos was almost sure by now that …

"Hey, Olaf! Come in, come in!"

Carlos turned on his bench and glanced toward the door … and nearly dropped his drink.

There was a snowman ambling into the tavern.

A _walking_ snowman.

A walking snowman who brought his own snow-cloud with him.

Olaf went and shook, ah, _hands_ with the men at the table by the door, then wandered in Carlos's general direction. His companion bellowed, "Hey, Olaf, come over here, buddy!"

The snowman agreeably trundled over and stopped in front of Carlos, whose mouth was hanging open. Olaf reached a stick-hand up and gently closed it for him, then offered companionably, "Kristoff says you'll spill your ale if you let your mouth hang open like that."

_It speaks!_

The big blonde man laughed loudly at Olaf's astute observation and clapped Carlos on the back. "He's got th' right of it."

Still staring at Olaf, Carlos asked, "… Did … did Quain Elsa … did zhe …"

"Oh, yes, she built me out of snow, and gave me my own little flurry to take with me so I don't melt!" He pointed at the tenuous cloud over his head.

Reaching a tentative hand over to the snowman, Carlos felt the icy bite on his fingers. He whispered, "By the saints …"

"My name is Olaf. What is yours?"

"… Enrique." _This thing is self-aware! Mother of God, she's a Maker!_

"That's a funny name. Do you have a brother named Outrique?"

That brought Carlos back down to earth, only to bounce higher than he had been before. _It tells jokes? Was she able to imbue this creation with a __**soul**__?_ "Um … not railly. No. I had a coople-pair of brawthers, but they doyed."

"Oh, that is so sad! I'm very sorry. Are they in Heaven now?"

"I … beelayve so." _How is this possible? I'm having a religious discussion with an animated snowman. _"They were sawns of the Chorch, and fait'ful mans."

"That's good. I like going into the church. It's really pretty and …"

A loud whistle was heard outside and half a dozen of the Watch ran past. Olaf tripped over to the door and followed them, disappearing into the darkness. Carlos stared blankly at the door for a moment, then looked over at the tall clock behind the bar. _Hmm. Time to be getting on back to the hostel. I want Juan's take on this._ He drained his beer (he'd tried _several_ different ales that evening, and enjoyed them all) and tossed a few coins on the bar. Gripping his companion's arm briefly, he concentrated before saying, "Tanks for de stoory, Berthold." Then he pulled his hat down and slipped out of the tavern. Berthold, after staring off fuzzily at nothing for the space of two breaths, shook his head and returned to his drink.

One of his buddies sat down. "Bert."

"Albin."

"Who's your friend?"

That bought Albin a blank stare. "Huh?"

"Your friend, that guy you were talkin' to. You an' Olaf both talked to him."

"… How much have you had to drink?"

"Oh, come on, Bert, I ain't blind! He was sittin' right here, plain as day!"

Bert chuckled and said, "You need to cut back to one keg a night. You're seein' things."

Albin gave him a funny look, then got up and found another table to sit at.

. . .

. . .

"I'm telling you, Juan, any monarch in Europe … strike that, any monarch in the _**world**_ would be thrilled beyond measure to have a _tenth_ of the loyalty that Queen Elsa's subjects have for her. It's almost beyond belief. I certainly wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard it over and over and over and …"

"Are ya sure they're not under an enchantment?"

"Nobody has that much …" He stopped himself and considered what he'd been about to say. "Eehhhhhhherrrrrummmm. Okay, maybe she does have that kind of power. But that's not what they … see, she's sacrificed a lot for her kingdom."

"So? Lots of royalty does that."

"Not like this." He gave Juan a brief rundown of the Battle of the Five Ships, leaving the man slack-jawed.

"… All five?"

"Uh-huh."

"Up on their sterns."

"That's right."

"I'm calling bullshit on that one."

"Then argue with every other person I met tonight, because their stories all jibe. She took five warships down by herself."

"Damn. And I thought _you_ had some power."

"Exactly. Juan … she's a Maker."

A quick chill ran up the man's back. "Are you serious?"

Carlos told him about Olaf. "And he's … he's an accepted member of the community! He goes where he pleases. Everyone at the tavern knew him."

"… Exactly how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Laugh it up, but you'll see."

Juan got a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hey, speaking of seeing, I was down by the kitchen …"

"Of course you were."

"Jerk. Anyway, I came back through the lobby. There's a portrait of the Queen there. Did you see it?"

"Huh. No, I must have missed it. Why?"

"If it's at all accurate, she's quite a looker."

"Hmm. Well, I was informed several times in every tavern I visited that Elsa is THE great beauty of Scandinavia. But I fail to see how any woman could live up to the hype. Obviously the people love her. That would translate well into thinking her the most gorgeous thing God ever let live."

"True." Juan sat up and snapped his fingers. "That reminds me. You'll see her tomorrow."

"Oh, yes?"

"The invitation's on your little table over there."

Carlos retrieved it. "Huh. 'Your Audience with her Majesty, Queen Elsa, is arranged to begin at 4:45. Please be prompt.' Well." He turned the card over, but there was nothing besides the Royal Seal of Arendelle there. "That's good. I need to talk to her as soon as possible about that odious Cardinal."

"Then here's your chance."

. . .

. . .

Elsa's reputation as a gracious, graceful, self-contained Queen was certainly _**not**_ undeserved … but it certainly _**was**_ being put to the test.

She sighed to herself as she glanced at the clock on the far wall, visible over the shoulder of the mincing little Austrian popinjay who had been veiling his insults in a sugar coating for the last fourteen minutes. He wasn't the only one who had done so, just (so far) the most tiresome. "Yes," she said, interrupting his monologue, "Arendelle thanks you for your interest in our smelly furs and our substandard beer, but We have another appointment, so We will bid you a good day."

The Viscount stood stiffly, his cavernous nose raised imperiously. "I believe I've said enough-"

"Indeed," Elsa cut in, calmly, "and more." She waved a couple of fingers at a guard, who escorted the Viscount out.

The next appointment was with that _hidalgo_ she and Anna had discussed the previous evening. Elsa had been looking forward to meeting a Spaniard, but at the moment she only wanted the audience to be over. Her back was stiff and her patience thin. She hoped he would be an improvement over that Austrian. Truthfully, he could hardly be otherwise.

Carlos, for his part, was as nervous as he'd been in quite some time. He desperately wanted to make a good impression. He had determined that these brief meetings were just a way for the Queen to size up her visitor, and in no way indicated the promise of any sort of follow-up. He needed a private audience with her, private enough that they could discuss things that no one else should know about. He glanced again at the small board set up in a prominent location listing the languages Elsa knew, in descending order of familiarity. Spanish was at the bottom of the list. But French was Number Two, and he was fluent himself. That was one worry out of the way at least.

A guard turned and motioned to him, and he quickly strode toward the door, pausing as his name was read. "Carlos Fernandez Jacinto Enrique Diego de la Maria, _hidalgo_ of Andalusia!" He marched on into the room, noting in passing the tasteful and elegant décor. The reception chamber was arranged so that he came in from Elsa's left side, past a screen and three guards, so he didn't really see her, especially given that one of her advisors was leaning over to speak with her. Dropping to one knee in front of the Queen in an elaborate bow, he raised his head and their eyes met …

… Some years past, off the Cape of Good Hope in autumn, he had been aboard a tall ship sailing for Madagasikara when a squall came up out of the west. They had a fresh wind and a following sea, and were able to stay ahead of the storm, but what caught Carlos's attention was the way the sky changed color from horizon to horizon. The west was dark, a swirling mix of slates and cobalts illuminated with jagged bursts of lightning. The east was bright, nearly white in places due to a thin haze over the water. But overhead was cerulean, the truest, purest blue he had ever seen … until that moment. The Queen's high, pale forehead and the slim lines of her brows framed an arresting pair of eyes that, frankly, he had never imagined existed. His gaze was irrevocably drawn, via her delicate nose, past creamy, flawless cheeks, to the blush-pink bow of her lips, slightly parted at the time to show even, white teeth. His short speech of introduction died in his throat as he found himself utterly unable to tear his eyes from this vision of Nordic perfection.

Elsa may or may not have been breathing, but she couldn't be bothered to care at that point. She had never before considered that there might be such a thing as a truly _beautiful_ man, but she now revised that opinion. He was … dazzling. Eyes like chips of obsidian from the highlands peered up at her from a swarthy, angular face bracketed by a strong but lean chin and a sweep of hair so black it shamed the starling's wing. It glistened in the slanted afternoon light that struck through the high windows, and she found herself mesmerized. Wide shoulders and a deep chest tightly filled a burgundy-and-gold brocaded vest, and his smooth, sinuous movements as he regained his feet spoke of great strength and a deep and intimate familiarity with physical action …

The quarter-hour they spent together was notable for its lack of actual communication and its plethora of cleared throats, stuttering, and nervous embarrassment. Carlos had to force himself to keep his eyes off her as he left, and shortly found that he couldn't remember a single detail of their conversation.

Elsa stayed in her chair, quite bemused, for several minutes before the 'ahem-ahem-ahem' of her _charge d'affairs_ got her attention. Later, at dinner, she took a few sips of wine and ate three grapes. Everyone else at the table noticed that she seemed very much distracted.

That evening, Carlos sat brooding in his hotel room. No amount of Juan's cheerful banter would break his shell, and the gray-haired man finally gave up, leaving a tray of cold cuts and fruit for his master before heading down to the nearby tavern for some of the excellent local ale.

. . .

. . .

_A/N: And so they have met. And now we shall see what sort of fallout comes from it._

_All comments welcome!_


	7. Communication

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: Time for introspection is not always a good thing. And just because you know something, that doesn't mean it's true._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 6: Communication**

. . .

. . .

_Friday 23 July 1820_

After breakfast, Juan came back into the room to find Carlos sitting near the window in the same chair he'd been in the night before, only now he was limned by the morning sunglow. The keg he was carrying landed next to the first one before he walked over. "You planning on staring a hole in the glass?"

Carlos didn't immediately respond, except to re-position one leg slightly.

His liege-man laid a hand on his shoulder. "You have _**really**_ been somewhere else since you returned from your audience with the Queen. Did it go all that badly?"

That dark gaze slid around and up to lock on Juan's face. "… Badly? Ah … no. I wouldn't say that." He leaned forward and rested his chin on a fist. "But it gave me a very great deal to think about."

Juan pulled a chair over and straddled it, leaning on the back. "You know you can talk to me about anything. In fact, you have."

"True."

"If this is something I can help with, I will. You know that, too."

"Also true."

"So is it?"

"I have no idea."

The gray beard twitched back and forth a few times. "Okay, then use me as a sounding board. Just speak it out loud and listen to how it sounds."

Carlos raised an eyebrow, thinking that tactic over, and finally nodded. "Very well. I've told you about my marriages."

"Belinda and Julia, right."

"They were arranged."

"I know. But you had happy marriages anyway. More or less."

"More or less. The first would have been happier if Julia hadn't been so frail. The second, if the pox hadn't …" His voice caught as he bowed his head. The deaths of his children still affected him even after so much time had passed. He drew a couple of long breaths. "But, yes. They were arranged. And in each case, my wife and I became good friends."

Juan bobbed his head once in acknowledgement.

The next words came slowly, as he worked out the concepts in his mind. "I even came to love Belinda, after a fashion. She was sensible, had a head for numbers, appreciated a good tumble in the sheets, gave birth easily, and knew how to be a good mother. Made a solid marriage partner."

"Aye. You've said all that before from time to time."

"But I was never _In Love_ with either of them."

"Pfaugh. Sentimental nonsense."

"Yes. I know that's your view on it. Until yesterday it was mine as well."

Juan rocked back in shock. _Carlos? In love? Inconceivable!_ "So the audience went _**very**_ well."

"I have no idea. I don't even recall what I said, and I suspect I sounded like an idiot. All I can tell you is that she is an angelic vision, that neither her portrait nor the descriptions I heard even _**begin**_ to do her justice, and that I felt a deeply visceral attraction the moment our eyes met." His gaze flicked over toward Juan. "And I am reasonably sure she felt the same way."

"… You got a Sending?"

He nodded.

"… Oh."

"Yes. Very much 'Oh', indeed."

Juan developed a look of intense concern. "You know what that makes me think about?"

"I might."

"Hamaraja?"

"Exactly. I thought at the time that old man's prophecy was as likely to happen as a blind man catching unicorn farts."

"I think those were your exact words when you told me about it. A woman who is 'your equal in every way'?"

"Except I believe Elsa to be _**more**_ than my equal in many respects."

"… And she's young yet."

Carlos nodded slowly. "Quite young. I can only _**imagine**_ how strong she will be in fifty years. Or a hundred."

"So then … um … is she …"

"I would stake my life on it."

"Well." Juan rose and began to pace. "That's one question answered, anyway."

Carlos stood and moved to stand in front of the window. "I have to see her again."

"I … suppose I could run another card up to the palace."

"I may have you do that."

"… Or …"

Carlos gave him the eye. "You're not going to suggest what I think you're about to suggest, are you?"

"Hey, if she's one of you, it should be perfectly safe."

An emphatic shake of the head answered him. "Dreamwalking is fine if the two people involved are intimately familiar with each other. All it would do is scare her half to death, and I will **NOT** do that under any circumstances."

"Fine. We'll do it the slow way." He held out a hand. "Let me have another card.

. . .

. . .

Elsa of Arendelle paced her study like a caged wolf.

Jørgen had been by just after breakfast (of which she could eat hardly any) to give her the overnight reports, and they had been delightfully free of mayhem. The Watch caught three members of one gang, while the fourth had drowned in the fjord after tripping over Olaf's head. Other than that, the night turned out quiet. He offered his opinion that the large pile of corpses just out of sight to the south had had a marvelously steadying effect on the criminal element. They were, after all, in the game to turn a quick coin or three, not to end up filleted like a cod by some shadowy vigilante. One of the patrol boats had intercepted a low, black craft filled to the gunwales with robbers on their way to less fatal pursuits. With them, they'd had three large sacks of loot. It was being cataloged as they spoke.

After he left, she had summoned Kai and directed that all future requests for audience be postponed until further notice. She also asked him to find out where that Andalusian _hidalgo_ was staying in town. He had been about to question that order, but the intense gaze she sent him quelled that idea in a hurry. He rushed to comply.

Bits of frost covered most of the surfaces in the study. She'd not had this much trouble keeping her ice at bay in better than a year. It was no problem to reabsorb or banish it once she noticed it, but the fact of its existing at all was irksome. It meant her control was slipping.

It meant fear was beginning to be an issue.

Fear, the trolls had said some fourteen years ago, would be her enemy. Fear, she had learned, would blanket the land in an eternal winter. Fear had nearly killed the beloved sister she had tried to protect by spending well over a decade in near-isolation. And fear seemed to be her mind's response to the reaction her body had experienced when she'd met Carlos Diego de la Maria. Even now there was a sort of … _tight_ feeling in her nether regions, a restless anticipation she had never felt before. It was so … different. Different, and secretly exciting, and distracting and scary.

She leaned on the window sill, noticed the ice creeping up the pane, and sighed. _Maybe I haven't been letting my powers out often enough_, she thought. During and after the Battle of the Five Ships she had felt so … free. Maybe the ice just needed to be let out for a bit. Nodding absently, she pondered what to do about it. Then her face lit in a smile.

The guard outside her door (purely superfluous in her mind, as she knew that she herself was the most dangerous creature in the land … possibly apart from the recently-arrived vigilante, who made her quite nervous) turned to look at her when she stepped into the hall. "Kindly find Gerda for me, would you?"

"Right away, my Queen!"

The palace chatelaine soon showed up and Elsa outlined her plan (leaving out the part about her ice getting away from her). Gerda thought a short break might be just the thing. The wedding was only nine days away, and she'd noticed that tempers had gotten short.

"Would you happen to know where my sister is?"

Just for the barest fraction of an instant, an expression of … concern? disapproval? flashed across Gerda's face. But then her normal, no-nonsense face reappeared. "The last time I saw her, she was sneaking chocolate truffles from the kitchen."

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised."

Gerda had to giggle a little at that.

"Well," continued Elsa, "you look for her and I'll look for her. The castle's only so big, and she's not … subtle."

"Aye, we'll find her."

. . .

. . .

Anna wasn't in the kitchen, though the grumbling head Cook was. Did the Princess think that chocolate truffles were easy to make? Had she ever watched it being done? It was a complex process that took time and a steady hand and she didn't even pause to savor them, just wolfed them down as if …

Anna wasn't out in the gardens. None of the gardeners had seen her that morning, although two of the landscapers were still trying to figure out what to do with the gap that she'd made in one of the hedges while playing with that cursed reindeer when they were chasing …

Anna wasn't in her room. One of the maids was tidying it when Elsa looked in. "Have you seen the Princess this morning?"

"No, your Majesty."

"Hmm." Looking more closely at the room, she asked, "Did you make the bed?"

"No, your Majesty. The Princess must have done it before I arrived."

That, thought the Queen, was about as likely as the sun rising in the west. She fought off a frown.

Elsa walked along the corridor that led to the part of the castle where the guest rooms were located. Currently they had a Bey from somewhere in North Africa (why couldn't she keep those countries straight in her head?), an Italian Archduke and Archduchess, a Polish princess and her cousin (two really lovely girls that Anna had bonded with almost instantly), the Princess of Corona and her Consort, who happened to be a commoner, a fact which delighted Anna (they were an odd couple whose frank manners and plain speech Elsa had found very refreshing), and a very wealthy English Earl … plus all their retinues. It was rather crowded, truth be told.

A few other people, primarily servants of the guests, were bustling up and down the long hall, but then Elsa spotted one of the Polish girls and hurried over to her. "Excuse me! Princess Idina?"

Her face lit up when she recognized Elsa. Rather short and very curvy, the blonde girl's chocolate-brown eyes constantly sparked with a merriment that had drawn Anna in like a vortex. If anyone might know where she was …

"Have you seen my sister today?"

"Oh, yes!" Her French was almost as good as Elsa's. "She was in our rooms earlier." She leaned closer and lowered her voice in conspiratorial glee. "But she had an assignation!"

"… I beg your pardon?"

Clasping her hands together, she breathed, "Oh, it is sooooo romantic! She and her husband-to-be simply cannot _**stand**_ to be apart! She left to meet him in the cellars."

"I see. And when was that, do you think?"

"Oh, at least an hour ago. Is she not the end of all things cute?"

"She's the end of something, all right."

"I think it is so exciting! I hope to meet such a man who will steal my heart." At that she got ever so slightly pensive. "Hopefully before Daddy picks out someone for me."

Elsa patted her arm. "I trust Providence will be on your side in that quest." And then she headed for the stairs.

. . .

. . .

At this time of day hardly anyone frequented the cellars. There were several cask-halls, each with its own door, and consisting of a string of round, domed rooms, each some twelve paces across, connected by short, arched passages. Elsa had only to listen at the doors in turn to find the lovers. She walked in, knowing in advance that they'd be in the farthest reach, where sound was the most muffled. Her sister, she had come to understand, was a screamer.

She made her way back through the first four rooms, wincing slightly at the sounds that were getting ever clearer, and finally stopping in front of a large quilt that had been draped over the entrance to the final room. And there she stood, indecisive. Clearly through the cloth barrier came Anna's harsh breathing, interspersed with the occasional expletive or rapid _"yesyesyes"_, and it harmonized with Kristoff's deep grunts and repeated breathing of her name. Elsa had expected to simply walk in on them as she had done the last time, embarrassing them and monopolizing the moral high ground.

But that didn't happen. As she stood there, swaying slightly, the sounds and the scents of her sister's lovemaking washing over her, a deep roaring welled up from somewhere inside …

Suddenly she was elsewhere.

_The calm seas rolled quietly, gently under the ship as she and her mate embraced in their cabin. His right hand pressed into the small of her back as his left tangled in her loosened hair. The platinum blond wealth spreading around them, her lips trembled as her small hands took the measure of the ridges and valleys of his chest, his hard abdominal muscles under smooth skin. She gasped as his open mouth left a trail of cool fire from under her ear down her neck to the point of her shoulder and the hollow of her collar bone and lower still …_

With monumental effort, she pulled herself from the vision and fell, gasping, against a nearby barrel. A sheet of ice shot out from where her feet met the floor, quickly covering every surface in the cask-hall.

There was a surprised "Eep!" from the next room … then several seconds of silence … then Anna, wrapped in a large, slightly ice-encrusted shawl (and nothing else) whipped the blanket aside and angrily asked, "Don't you have anything better to do than spy on me?"

Elsa could only gasp over and over as she clung to the barrel. _So real! It had been so real!_ That tightness in her loins she had felt earlier twisted up into a towering, undeniable urge, a force of nature she could in no wise ignore.

"This is the only thing we can do to stay even remotely sane, Elsa!"

The Queen stared at the wall, trying to come to grips with that emotional tempest.

"Are you even _**hearing**_ me?"

In fits and starts, Elsa finally stood straight, and her glazed eyes met Anna's. "My Lord … in Heaven. Is _**that**_ … what you feel? Is _**that**_ … why you can't … stay away from him?"

"… Huh?"

Waving a shaky hand at her sister, Elsa turned and stumbled away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Stopping at the arch, she looked back, her haunted eyes shocking Anna. "P-pl-please forgive me. And please come and see me when you're … finished. No hurry. En-enjoy yourself." And she left.

. . .

. . .

_Elsewhere …_

… _half-lidded eyes of the purest sapphire, hazy with lust …_

… _skin too soft for description trembling under his skilled fingers …_

… _the lush swell of her hip against his palm …_

… _long, pale hair finer than silk bunching around his face, its heady scent filling him, lifting him …_

… _the taste of the tender skin along her neck as he nipped …_

The sudden, hard contact of his face with the floor brought him out of the trance. He blinked, shook his head, shook it again, and pushed himself up on his hands.

_What the hell was that!?_

It took him a minute to realize, as he fought off the ghosts of the vision, that he had fallen out of the chair. With some exertion, he climbed to his feet and righted it, then pulled a shaken hand across his brow.

_That was her. That was Elsa. I was … we were …_

"Oh, God. Please, God, no …"

He blushed a deep, deep red as he realized he had attempted a subconscious Dreamwalk.

"What have I done?"

The enormity of his action shamed him. What must Elsa be going through at this moment? She would have no idea from where the images had arisen!

He had to see her. It was no longer optional. To protect both their minds, he would have to meet with her, and talk to her, and explain just who and what he was, what SHE was, and try to teach her how to shield herself from his psyche.

He stumbled to the door, paused to collect his thoughts, turned back when he realized he didn't have his blades, and finally exited his rooms.

. . .

. . .

Anna showed up at Elsa's door some two hours later, her hair wrapped in a towel, and her countenance wrapped in indignation. Silently she walked in past her older sister, found a chair and _flumphed_ down, resolutely _**not**_ looking at Elsa.

The Queen came and stood before her, hands clasped at her waist. "Anna … I truly am sorry for the way I have been … _reacting_ to your liaisons with Kristoff. I never before understood the … depth of feeling … the _**intensity**_ of … of …" She vented a long sigh and knelt at Anna's knee. "I humbly ask your forgiveness. And I promise, on my honor, not to utter another word against it."

Anna had allowed her focus to shift to Elsa's face about halfway through her apology. She blinked deliberately a few times. "What brought that on?"

"… Experience."

Anna's brows drew together. "Experience? What do you mean by that? I thought … I mean, you've never even _**looked**_ at a guy so how could you have …"

Elsa dropped her eyes to the hem of Anna's dress. "I … I, um … felt …" They locked gazes. "I felt what you were feeling."

Anna's face would have made Elsa laugh under other circumstances. Taking her younger sister's hand, she tried to explain. "When I came to stand outside your … chamber … I had every intention of … of embarrassing you again."

"I never _**used**_ to think you had much of a cruel streak in you."

"I'm not sure what it was. Envy, perhaps, though I didn't recognize it."

"Envy? Over Kristoff?"

"Over what you _**have**_ with Kristoff." She re-positioned herself on the floor, crossing her legs and re-forming her ice-dress to suit. "I … don't really know very much about … relationships. I couldn't have one at all while I was hiding my powers, and over the last year I've been so busy just … _**being**_ the Queen, protecting Arendelle … it simply never came up." She raised her gaze to her sister's face. "I don't have even the tiniest clue how to go about … and I never had a reason before, so it wasn't … I mean, not that there's anything solid to work with, but … but if he would just show up again …"

"Whoa." Anna put a finger across Elsa's lips. "You have totally lost me. If _**who**_ would just show up again?"

A light blush crept up the Queen's cheek. "That Andalusian."

"… Wait. … That guy with the really long name?"

"Carlos Diego de la Maria. The other middle names don't really matter much."

"Well." Anna worked that one over and giggled. "You've got a thing for him, huh?"

"I fear it is much more than just a 'thing'."

"How come is that?"

"We … made some kind of connection. I know beyond doubt that he felt it, too."

"Connection? What, exactly?"

"I don't _**know**_, exactly! That's what's been wearing at me ever since he walked out of the Receiving Chamber! But it must have _**something**_ to do with … I mean how could it not? Right?"

"Have to do with what?"

"Oh. Right. When you and Kristoff were … busy … you know …"

"When we were 'making the beast with two backs' as you so eloquently put it that last time?"

Elsa's blush deepened. "Yes."

"Technically we weren't. See, I was standing, leaning against the wall, and he was behind me with …"

"Please!" Elsa threw up her hands. "Please, no details. I'm having enough of a problem as it is."

"Problem with what?"

"When you were … together … and I was standing in front of the blanket … I could feel what you were feeling." She placed a hand over her womb. "In here."

Anna was the very picture of puzzlement. "… How?"

"I have no idea. But it spun out into this … this romantic fantasy of some sort … but, Anna, I could _**feel**_ him! I could _**feel**_ his hands in my hair, his lips on my neck and …" She pressed her lips together for a moment. "It was quite overwhelming."

"Kristoff didn't _have_ his hands in my hair. Or his lips on me anywhere. Not at the time. He was too busy with …"

"Anna!"

The Princess gave her a cheeky grin. "Sorry."

"No you aren't."

"You're right. I'm not."

"Well. Whatever. Hand position notwithstanding, I could feel your … urges."

Anna gave a snort. "Urges? You mean that raw, primordial, raging _**lust**_ that Kristoff pulls out of me?"

"Um … sure. We'll go with that. Not a bad description, now that I think of it."

"… Oh. Um, I was being, you know, sarcastic."

"I'm not."

Anna considered her sister for a moment and took her hand. "Huh."

"Precisely. And I have no clue what to do about it." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, sighing deeply. "I greatly fear that if I see him again, I will babble like a fool."

"Sounds like love to me."

"Anna! How can I love someone I've talked with for fifteen minutes?"

"… Okay. Your point. So it's what, infatuation?"

Elsa let her head drop into her hands. "I don't _know_, I don't _know_, I don't _know!_ I don't know _anything_. I've never been in this position before, and I am radically, utterly, finally _**unprepared**_ for it."

Anna found herself in the unusual position of consoling her sister over the question of a man.

. . .

. . .

Juan returned to their rooms at half an hour before noon, hot, tired, and deeply irritated. The lackey at the palace gate had refused to take his card, saying stiffly that the Queen was conducting no audiences until further notice. Juan tried several tactics, since he knew how important it was that Carlos speak with her. But everyone who came to the gate had the same story. Finally he was warned off with the admonition that the Watch would be called if he continued to be a bother.

He threw his hat against the wall and stomped over to the water basin to lave his face. As soon as he'd dried off and hung the towel back up, he spied an envelope leaning up against the end of the ale keg. _Ha! Whoever put it there knew where I'd be going first!_ He snatched up the note and pulled out the missive.

It was in French, the sort of _lingua franca_ of Europe at the time, so he could make it out well enough:

_Her Most Royal Majesty  
Queen Elsa of Arendelle  
requests the pleasure of the  
presence of  
Carlos &c Diego de la Maria  
at the Receiving Room  
at your earliest convenience._

_Please bring this letter as  
proof of your identity._

It was embossed with the royal seal.

Juan lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Why me, God?!"

. . .

. . .

Noon came and went while Carlos stared across the palace walls from his hiding place back up the hill. He'd been there for quite some time, going over his options.

And over them, and over them, and …

There was no apology he could think of that would _at_ _all_ be sufficient for what he had done. He greatly feared that if he went to her and explained what had happened, she'd have him banished.

Maybe if he explained their shared heritage first?

But why would she believe him?

He could demonstrate …

But his powers were different. So very different.

He needed to tell her … to tell her …

What? That he loved her? Again, why would she believe him? They had spoken for a quarter of an hour.

But surely she must have felt …

And again, he asked himself, what reason could he give as an explanation that she would accept? He had betrayed the ultimate trust already by invading her mind. What worse could he ever do?

So he sat and stared, and pondered, and castigated himself, and sank deeper into depression as the day wore into night.

. . .

. . .

_Deep Night …_

The boat was black and low, the few oars muffled. It pulled into the fjord, moving slowly and silently until it passed the Harbormaster's Station. Gliding into the inner lagoon, it found a remote berth and eased up to the landing without a sound. Eight men slipped up and off of it, shirts and pantaloons of dark wool further smudged with lampblack, as were their faces and the rags tied 'round their heads. They pulled a stopper from the bottom of the boat, and made sure it was fully sunk before melting into the darkness.

. . .

. . .

_A/N: Poor Elsa is so confused … and Carlos is misinformed. How will they rectify these issues? We'll find out in Chapter 7: Detonation._

_All comments welcome!_


	8. Detonation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: To err is human. Carlos is just as prone to that as the next man._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 7: Detonation**

. . .

. . .

_Saturday 24 July 1820, 12:30am_

Sunset was a distant memory when Carlos's growling stomach finally insisted that he seek some kind of nourishment. He unlimbered his lanky frame from its hidey-hole in the city wall, muscles suffering no apparent pain or stiffness from the lengthy vigil, gazed about briefly, and made his way down to the nearest open tavern. Though he had not come to any conclusions about what he should do vis-à-vis his spiritual debt to the Queen, he _had_ made up his mind in one direction: he was going to _**eliminate**_ the criminal element from Arendelle. And he was of just such a mindset as to make him not care about such niceties as whether or not they got a sporting chance.

Once he had gotten on the outside of a nice joint of beef and a few steins of dark ale, he strode out into the main east-west boulevard and called up a view of the astral plane. It wasn't difficult to locate the nearest gang of robbers, and he headed off in that direction, lips drawn into a thin grimace of determination.

. . .

. . .

_1:20am_

One of his Lieutenants knocked on the door of Watch Captain Jørgen Fjelstad's sleeping quarters. The Captain had a home – a fairly nice one, actually – situated on the northern edge of the city, but given the vigilante situation of late, he'd decided to sleep in the Watch House tonight. He would shortly wonder why he bothered with the 'sleep' part.

Sitting up and coming awake in seconds, he called, "Enter."

"Cap? Two patrols just reported in. Got more dead crooks."

"… Dead … right. How many?"

"Eighteen and counting."

"… What do you mean by 'and counting'?"

"Got one report from Heife Merkentz about bodies behind his shop, and another from somebody in Farrier's Way, but don't have the Watch reports back yet."

_*groan*_ "Very well. I'll be right there." The vigilante (Jørgen hadn't come up with a name for him yet) had been quiet for … he squinted at the clock … some thirty-two hours. He knew it was too good to last.

The two reports in question – and two more – came in by the time a quarter-hour had passed. Jørgen read through the lists again, tallying the count. "So. Fifty-one. And it's the same man."

"The wounds are consistent, sir."

"Yes." A tired sigh accompanied a few rubs to his eyes. "Yes, well." He looked at his map, tracing out the latest batch to see if there was a pattern, and got a chill. "Frid … look at this. Does it look to you like he's working his way toward the palace?"

"… He might be at that, sir."

"Gather what patrols you can find. We'll convene at the gates."

. . .

. . .

Adolf Asplund hadn't become the most successful thief in northern Germany by making stupid mistakes, and he had no intention of taking up the practice now just because every other robber in Arendelle was scared shitless. He had gathered the vicious gangs under his control, some thirty footpads and cutthroats all told, and secreted them away in a small warehouse he had rented. The rental agreement was one hundred percent legitimate, save for the name on the contract, but since he had ponied up the gold in advance, the owner wasn't that interested in such details.

This particular warehouse had seemed perfect to him largely due to the fact that it only had two small windows, and they were both two man-heights off the floor. It was situated near the docks, but placed so that it would be quite difficult for anyone to get a look inside. He'd been very pleased with himself over this acquisition, since it meant that he and his men could meet whenever they felt like it to plan their next series of robberies, and no one would be the wiser. A wide double door opened onto the street, but there was also a small man-door on the other side, placed, he assumed, as a fire escape. It was ideal for clandestine comings and goings.

These were characteristics of the building that he would soon regret.

The men were gathered in small groups, some playing at casino or ombre, some tossing dice, and a few just trying to stay drunk. Small amounts of money changed hands frequently. If someone got too loud or belligerent, Adolf was as likely as not to sap him, so the men tended to keep it quiet. They also didn't want to attract the attention of Death Shadow, as the crooks had taken to calling the vigilante that had so drastically reduced their ranks in recent days. No matter how good the pickings were, you couldn't spend the money if you were dead.

From where he sat near the small door, Adolf caught a heavy whiff of the chamber pot they had to use (the warehouse had no facilities). He stood and moved to the middle, then said, just loud enough to be heard, "Slop call."

Everyone looked at him and grumbled. Nobody enjoyed the duty of emptying the chamber pot, especially given that they would let it get dangerously full before doing anything about it. But everyone had a number, and Adolf had a bag of numbered pebbles. He nodded toward a large man nursing a bottle of _akvavit_. "Gunnar, you pick." And he held out the bag.

Silently, Gunnar reached into the bag and withdrew a stone, then squinted at it in the low lamplight. Heaving a disgusted sigh, he threw it back into the bag and stomped off toward the pot, most of the other men laughing at his expense. But a few seconds later, he called over his shoulder, "Hey, the door's stuck."

Adolf frowned. He knew the door was, if anything, too loose in its frame. It didn't even have a key, just a drop-bar on the inside. "What do you mean 'stuck'?"

Gunnar pushed and jiggled on the door. "It won't … huh … feels like there's a … chain across it.

The other men started chattering. Some drew their weapons. Two of them ran over to the double door, but found it just as stubbornly shut as the small one.

Suddenly sweating, Adolf pulled out his pistols. "This way! Over here! Stay together!"

_[[ … that … won't … help you …]]_

The sibilant voice sounded in everyone's head, and was followed by dead silence as they all strained to see from whence it came, hearts beating like hopped-up drummers. Then, one by one, the lamps went out, and the men started gibbering in fear. With only the faintest moonlight filtering in through the filthy glass in the two high windows, none of them could see a hand in front of his face. There was a _creeeeeak_ as one of the windows opened. Adolf blasted both pistols at it.

Then _**something**_ was in the room with them. The screaming went on for better than a minute.

It would be almost half an hour before the Watch, alerted to the situation by a nearby householder who had heard the commotion, got the chains off the door and discovered the mass of bodies.

. . .

. . .

_3:00am_

Normally the public grounds in front of the palace were deserted at this hour. As a hotelier in France had once grumped at him, it was time for decent folks to be in bed and tramps a-traveling. That, however, was not the case. Fully a dozen of the Watch were posted before the castle gate and along the bridge, and kept a keen eye out for … something. Carlos didn't know who or what.

Nor did he care. There were very few things at this point that he _**did**_ care about, unless they were associated with his current quest. He had come to Arendelle to protect the Queen from nefarious plots by evil men based in foreign lands. He had certainly _not_ expected to be protecting her from _**himself**_.

His latest effort at cleansing the city of imported criminals had netted his blades another one hundred forty-eight souls. Over the last hour, though, word had somehow spread and they were leaving. He could feel the exodus in his spirit, as if an evil miasma were being blown off a field, and he tried to feel good about it. But that didn't solve his problem.

He had to see Elsa. Had to speak with her. Had to explain, and hope he could get through what she needed to know before she turned from him in disgust and banished him from Arendelle forever.

And 'Forever', as he knew better than most, was a long, long time.

Currently he slouched against the cool stone of the bridge, arms crossed, contemplating the large edifice on the other side of the wall. She was in there somewhere. The palace was very beautiful, built more for its ornate style than for any real military purpose. Oh, the walls were thick and sturdy enough so that it would make a decent temporary redoubt for the citizens if the city came under attack, but he could see at a glance that it wouldn't be much use in a siege.

One of the Watch marched past, not an armspan away, but failed to notice him for all that. This was not accidental. Carlos could make himself very unnoticeable if he felt like it. Not that he was invisible, just … uninteresting. _Completely_ uninteresting.

He called up the astral plane again, just letting the silvery landscape settle in his mind's eye, watching as more and more of the gangs began traveling. He didn't want to seek her out this way. He knew she would be able to detect him if she were awake, and he would probably give her nightmares if she were asleep. So he didn't …

_What the hell was that?_

Four entities of concentrated evil, moving quickly along inside the wall, their maleficent intentions plain to Carlos's mind. He sprang toward their mental signature at a dead run – a much faster speed than should be humanly possible. This caused him to shed his aura of disinterest and suddenly half a dozen men were yelling at him.

"Call the rest of the Watch!" he answered as he dodged among them. "Get them all here as fast as you can!" Racing past the last Watchman, he closed in on the wall.

This stone bastion would have presented an insurmountable obstacle to anyone else (that _**was**_ its purpose) but Carlos turned his sprint into upward motion. Left foot on top of the wide railing, right foot on top of the near window, fingertips on a narrow ledge, and he gained the top. The men chasing him just stared for a few seconds, their jaws hanging open, until the Corporal ordered two of them back to the Watch Station. The others then frantically worked to unlock the gate.

The moon would be full for the wedding in just over a week, so the waxing gibbous shed plenty of light on this clear night. The interlopers had already gained the lower roof, headed for an open upper-floor window. Carlos could see in an instant the path they had taken and followed them at speed, a huge manic squirrel swarming up the side of the palace.

He gained the window and raced down the passage to the left, following their spoor. Now that they were inside, they were moving more slowly, and …

A guard, stuffed into a cubby behind a suit of armor, and with his throat slit, stared sightlessly at Carlos. He narrowed his eyes and ran faster, steady breaths coming easily between slightly-parted lips even as he nearly ricocheted off the corners.

A staircase down … another hall … around a bend …

The foursome was maybe fifteen yards down the way, in front of a door, blotches of irregular black against the dim light coming through the stained glass. One guard lay dead and another was gasping out his life on the floor. One of the assassins knelt in front of the door, preparing to force something under it. Carlos's heaviest throwing knife thudded to the hilt in his temple. Then the other three turned toward him and drew various weapons, and It Was On.

Rarely had the Spaniard faced an opponent who was nearly his equal, much less three, and he might have found himself hard pressed save for two facts: he was a great deal faster than any of them, and a _**very**_ great deal stronger. And they didn't know that.

He ducked under a small, spinning thing of sharp edges, leaped over a blade-tipped chain, and met the first assassin sword to sword. The man tried a quick triple-thrust maneuver, but Carlos recognized it instantly and was able to parry it halfway through, surprising his opponent, who fumbled the recovery and had to step back to reposition his grip. That fraction of a second was all Carlos needed. Lengthening his reach, his blade ripped across the man's groin, blood spraying from the severed femoral artery. He collapsed with a groan, and Carlos leaped over him.

The remaining two used teamwork, and it was a frantic few seconds of singing blades and grunted curses before Carlos was able to surprise the one on the left with a maneuver that seemed to leave his side vulnerable. A wickedly curved blade darted in, but as the assassin's left-hand weapon was still in the process of recovering from his last strike, his head was very briefly unguarded. Carlos's sword reversed direction with impossible speed, and the man's skull was cleft to the teeth.

But then Carlos took a tiny fraction of a second too long to free his sword, and the final assassin's blade scored a long stripe down his arm. The cut immediately began to burn fiercely. Carlos grit his teeth and fought on, wondering whether it was acid or poison on the blade.

At that moment the door they'd been in front of opened, and Elsa emerged. Carlos, near panic, yelled, "Get back inside!"

The assassin disengaged and flipped toward the Queen, who stood in shock at the carnage filling the hall. A small dagger zinged back at Carlos, who didn't quite manage to dodge. It lodged in the fleshy part of his upper left arm, and this time the pain was quite indescribable. He went to his knees, his vision blurring.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the assassin, arm back to throw some small object at Elsa …

. . .

. . .

_A/N: Oh, dear. Hopefully it won't be too long before the next chapter posts._

_All comments welcome!_


	9. Obstruction

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: Information is Power._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 8: Obstruction**

. . .

. . .

_Sunday 25 July 1820, 10:50pm_

Surrounding him, the water was a murky brown.

Cloaking him, it dulled the senses.

Muddy waters.

_Or is it the air?_

No matter.

He swam (flew?) upward.

A dim, dim spark.

_A star?_

No, a candle, flame wavering, shadow-ghosts smudging the wall behind it.

Vision comes and goes.

The brown returns.

Motion.

Pain.

_My arm?_

A noise, a clicking.

Blink … eyes are supposed to blink.

Great effort to pull the eyelids down, then let them spring back.

Dry.

So dry.

_Why are my eyes so dry?_

"Captain …"

A voice, not his own.

_Who is in my head?_

The voice again.

Pain. So sharp. So raw.

A flickering knife.

Pain. Yes. Pain in the knife.

Understanding grew.

_Sleep._

_Heal._

_Heal now._

_Blink. Blink and hold._

This time the eyelids stayed shut.

. . .

. . .

"I don't know, Cap. He mumbled something about mud and a knife, and then …"

"No, Frid, it was _blood_ and a knife!"

"You were across the room."

"And my ears are better than yours."

"You wish."

"Gentlemen!" Jørgen pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Can we agree on 'mumbled something about a knife, and then _**that's**_ when the red light came on'?"

"… Yes, sir."

"Thank you." He looked back over at the man on the cot whom the Queen had decided needed the best room in the palace infirmary.

The scene in the Queen's hallway when he and his men had arrived was, to say the least, chaotic. Three dead assassins and one encased in ice to his neck, one wounded and unconscious Spanish hidalgo … and one _exceedingly_ pissed-off Queen. She had fussed over the Spaniard – who, she informed him, went by Carlos Diego de la Maria, and so he would do well not to call him 'the Spaniard' – before, during, and after he was attended to by the palace physician.

At first, having sniffed the poison on the blade taken from Carlos's arm, the doctor had not been at all sanguine about his survival. He wouldn't last another hour. That turned into 'he won't last the night', which turned into 'how in God's name is he not dead?' The wounds were ugly, red and streaky, but though they didn't seem to improve, they never got any worse either.

The Watch Captain had the fourth assassin carried to the dungeon still encased in ice. He had strong suspicions of how dangerous the man could be, and wanted all the advantages on his side. So they placed him in a cell (just three down from Hans) and waited until he was semi-conscious from hypothermia before breaking off the shell. Then he was quickly stripped, and locked, naked and shivering, into the stocks.

"Get a warm blanket and drape it over him."

"Sir?"

"I have a lot of questions for that son of a bitch, and I don't want him dying before we can pry any information out of him."

"Oh. Yes, sir!"

At first, Jørgen was a lot more interested in the assassins than in the fellow who had fought them (the nature of the fight, at least, was obvious from the lay of the crime scene and Elsa's own recounting of events) because he thought he recognized their outfits. It had been too dark in the dungeon to really examine the living one, but once they had stripped another of them of his shirts and gotten a good look at the man's tattoos, he was sure: they were members of an infamous Russian assassins' guild. That really made him sit up and think. He knew of that guild (a lot of people did) and knew their reputation. They were terribly expensive even under the most mundane of contracts because they always carried out the terms. Always. To get to a head of state, they would only have sent their best, and their 'best' would be good enough to get out of just about any set of circumstances they found themselves in. They were the undisputed masters of their craft.

And this de la Maria fellow had killed three of them. By himself.

At that realization, he had the Span- um, Señor de la Maria's blades brought to him. A brief examination showed them to be consistent with the damage done to well over two hundred criminals in the last few days. Grimly he nodded to himself. That explained a lot. If the Sp- damn it, _de la Maria_ was skilled enough to better than hold his own against the world's best killers, wiping up common crooks would be something he could do without breaking a sweat.

And then there was that story the guards at the gate had told. Apparently the exalted Señor had appeared on the Bridge from thin air, taken a running start, and basically _**jumped**_ over the high wall. It was six man-heights from the top of the stone railing to the edge the parapet. He'd gone over in a couple of seconds with no obvious strain, then tracked the assassins to the Queen's bedroom door, and then killed three fourths of them.

That gave Jørgen quite a lot to chew on, and chew he had. Many, many cups of strong, chocolate-laced coffee later, he was no nearer a 'final answer' than he had been at the start.

What was de la Maria doing here? How'd he know about the assassins?

Why was a Russian murder syndicate trying to kill the Queen? Who had hired them? They certainly didn't work for free.

How was de la Maria even _**capable**_ of the things he obviously had done? It shouldn't be possible.

And finally, now, why in the name of all that was Holy was he _glowing?_ It wasn't as if the people of Arendelle weren't acquainted with magic, but the trolls and their Queen constituted all of it to date. This fellow? He was definitely out of the box.

Jørgen stepped into the next room and looked down at the sleeping form on the small bed. Elsa had not been ten paces from de la Maria since the fight, and suggesting otherwise had brought such a feral and protective light into her eyes that Jørgen hadn't broached the subject again. If she would rather rest on this hard cot than on her plump feather mattress, he wasn't going to argue.

"Sir?"

He looked up at the page who had just stepped into the infirmary. "Yes?"

"Message for you, Captain." He held out an envelope.

"Thanks." Unfolding the paper, he scanned the short message, one eyebrow climbing dangerously close to his thinning hairline. "Huh. Very well. I'll see to it."

"Very good, sir." The page scampered off, and Jørgen strode purposefully back to the Watch Tower. Fortunately, it was a relatively short walk.

Sergeant Olin met him at the door. "Sir! Thanks for coming so quickly."

"Let's see what you've got."

Inside, the Sergeant showed him eighteen sacks of various sizes, three boxes and a large trunk, all full of stolen goods. "Looks like a lot of them just left most of their stuff and ran. We stopped four groups that didn't have anything heavier than a dagger on 'em, an' only as much loot as would fit in a small pocket."

The Captain's head was beginning to hurt. The paperwork to sort out this mess was going to be a nightmare. "Where did all this come from?"

"Well … hang on." Olin fetched a sheet filled with scribbles. "All right … yeah, the trunk was in that locked warehouse …"

"With the thirty bodies?"

"Right. And … five of the sacks. Whoever killed 'em didn't even open any of the sacks, much less the trunk. We had to break off the lock."

"… And the rest?"

"Um … two? Yeah, two of the boxes and … four … seven … nine … right, nine sacks came off the boats we stopped."

Jørgen untied the nearest sack and pawed through it. Mostly coins, mostly kroner … several rings, a decent-sized emerald brooch … somebody will definitely be glad to get _**that**_ back … a gold fountain pen …"

"Sir?"

Sighing heavily, the Captain tied it back tight. "Yes?"

"Do you recall some two weeks ago, when things were getting really, um …"

"Tense?"

"Yes, sir. Several robberies each day."

"I do."

"You asked us to take a tally of what had been stolen."

He frowned, considering that. "Yes, I believe I did. The Lieutenant didn't think that was practical." At the time, Jørgen had thought his Lieutenant had an insufficient view of the size of the problem, but he had enough other problems that he'd just let it slide.

Olin shrugged. "Practical or not, we got a list when we could." He pulled a small case out of a shelf. "I've been keeping them here. I think we can start with what's in these lists. That will certainly narrow it down."

Incredulously, Jørgen extracted one of the lists and read it. "Hmm. Pretty good descriptions. Yes, this ought to help a lot." He gave the Sergeant a tired smile. "Good work. Maybe _**you'd**_ make a better Lieutenant than the _**Lieutenant**_."

That seemed to surprise the man. "Um … thank you, sir. One tries."

. . .

. . .

Elsa was a worrier. Always had been, and unless some things changed pretty significantly, she probably always would be. She worried about controlling (read: suppressing) her powers for thirteen years. Since then she's worried about being a good leader for her country, making sure she never misuses her powers, her sister's relationship with Kristoff, her lack of a relationship with anybody, which countries might pose a threat, how other national leaders view her, and on and on and on. She worried all the time. She had lots of practice. She was good at it.

So worrying about Carlos was a piece of cake. She could even do it in her sleep. Literally.

_. . . . . . . Her dream-form, decked out in a truly stunning ice-dress that shimmered with every color in the spectrum, stood beside Carlos's bed. She laid a gentle hand on his fevered brow …_

_Except it was no longer fevered. In fact, the wounds appeared to be shrinking, even as she watched. His eyes opened, then met hers._

_They both smiled . . . . . . ._

She startled awake, at first unsure of just where she was, then recognized the wall full of medical supplies. Swinging her legs off the cot, she stepped quickly into the next room.

His eyes were open. Not the glassy, sightless, bug-eyed appearance he had previously exhibited that scared the living crap out of her, but a conscious, aware gaze that met hers frankly.

"Hello."

She took two steps toward him and paused, clasping her hands in front of her waist in that habit she had when she was nervous and didn't know what else to do. "Hello."

"I'm very, very glad to see that you are unharmed."

"And I'm very glad to see that you are not dead."

"That _**would**_ have made this conversation awkward."

She dimpled just the slightest bit. "Doubtless." Then she cocked her head and studied him for a moment. "You aren't glowing."

"… I beg your pardon?"

"Earlier … you were glowing … a sort of red color."

He blushed and looked away. "Oh. You saw that."

"Yes. What was it?"

"A healing aura." His eyes flicked back to hers. "I can teach you if you like."

She paused in confusion for a few seconds. "Bu- … teach? … I'm sorry, what?"

Experimentally he moved his shoulder around, checking for pain. Finding none, he nodded and sat up, then massaged the previously-injured area. "Nice to know the powers still work."

"… Powers?"

He stood and then bowed. "My Queen. We did not … um, get very far in our first meeting."

"You might say that."

"Please allow me to explicate the reasons for my being in Arendelle."

The door creaked open slightly and Jørgen stepped in. "I wouldn't mind hearing those reasons myself."

Elsa jumped at the unexpected entrance.

Carlos had heard him coming. "I will do so if that is my Queen's wish."

Elsa looked between the two men for a few seconds and then nodded. "I believe it would be wise for Jørgen to be there. I would need to pass much of it along to him in any case, don't you think?"

"You must keep your own counsel in that regard, my Queen. I have no objection, though the tale may be rather … long. Long and somewhat incredible."

Shifting her gaze back to the Captain, she noted his rather ragged appearance. "You've not been sleeping well, have you?"

"No more than Your Majesty. Circumstances have prevented."

"That they have." She gave a decisive nod. "We shall begin your tale after breakfast, Señor de la Maria."

"Shall I return to my rooms or …"

"I believe it would be best for all concerned if you stayed here," interrupted Jørgen, just beating Elsa to the punch. "I have a keen interest in finding out how you survived that poison."

"Very well."

"Oh … and I believe these are yours." The Captain withdrew Carlos's twin dirks from his jerkin and passed them over.

The hidalgo gave the other man a bemused look. "You are very trusting with the life of your Queen, giving me these."

"Having had a few demonstrations of your skills, I feel quite sure, Señor, that if you had wanted any of us dead, we would already be cold."

Carlos suppressed a snort. "You flatter me."

"Where puissance in arms is concerned, I hardly think that possible. And apart from that fact, it seems to me that you have the _preservation_ of the Queen's life foremost in your thoughts, as opposed to her harm."

"That is true." Having inspected his blades, Carlos stored them out of sight and crossed his wrists behind his back. "Well, then. Lead on, and I shall follow." He pulled up short and then said, "Oh, I should also like to have my liege man up here with me, if that is allowed. I feel sure that he is worried about me."

"I have no issue with that. Elsa?"

She, who hadn't taken her eyes off Carlos at all during the conversation, gave her head a shake. "That would be fine. I'll send someone to go and get him."

. . .

. . .

To Carlos's manifest displeasure, the Watchman who went to fetch Juan was up on all the latest gossip, and just dying to share. So by the time the liege-man got into the palace and met up with his master, he was _beyond_ incensed.

"Can't let you out of my sight for an hour! What if they'd had bombs?"

"They _**had**_ bombs. Or, well, bomb. I think there was just the one."

Juan threw his hands up and paced around in circles. "You couldn't swing by to get me, yeah, I understand. It was too far. But couldn't you have taken a couple of the other guards with you? Going solo against assassins? _**Those**_ assassins? You know they use poisoned blades! Did you bet your brain in a game of dice and lose?"

"The Watch couldn't have kept up with me. You know that." Carlos was maintaining a calm exterior, waiting for his gray-bearded friend to run out of steam. "Besides, they killed all the other guards they ran into. What makes you think a couple of the Watch would have fared any better?"

Juan lapsed into low grumbling. Carlos clapped him on the back. "You worry too much. I know you decided that was your job a long time ago, but you take it too seriously."

"They _cut_ you, didn't they?"

"I _fixed_ it, didn't I?"

"You can't heal yourself if your head's unattached, and you only had the chance because the Queen froze one of them."

"Yeah." Carlos's gaze faded to a middle-distance somewhere. "She did do that, didn't she? She's really something else."

Juan snorted, "You're whipped."

"Don't care."

"She's got you so tight around her little finger …"

"She's got me tight, period."

"… Did _**not**_ need to know that."

Carlos heaved a bit of a sigh. "I still have to tell her about the Dreamwalking."

"… What _about_ Dreamwalking?"

"Oh." Carlos gave him a sober stare. "That's right, you don't know."

"So you tried a Dreamwalk after all?"

"I didn't 'try' anything. It just happened. I was sitting in that chair by the window and I suppose I zoned out. Next thing I knew I was in such a … it was … it was so _**intense!**_ I ended up on the floor."

"And you're sure she …"

"Dead sure. She was there." Half his face smiled as he shook his head. "Was she ever."

At that moment the palace clock began to strike midnight. They looked at each other and Carlos shrugged. "Guess I'll try damming those rapids when I hit 'em. At least she's favorably disposed toward me, since I kept the assassins from getting to her. Maybe that will make up for it? A little?" He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of both hands and moved over to the wash basin. "Right now, I'm very tired. Healing takes a lot of energy, and there is a distressing paucity of ley lines around Arendelle. Sleep will have to do instead."

"Understood."

. . .

. . .

_Monday 26 July 1820, 8:30am_

One of Elsa's guards met Carlos at his door and guided him to breakfast. The meal took place in a smaller room, not too far from the kitchens. The interested parties wanted an atmosphere where they didn't have to shout at each other from the far ends of the long table.

Elsa hadn't slept well (understatement: she'd hardly slept, period) and had made list after mental list of the things she wanted to ask Señor de la Maria. They all tended to jumble together, and the closer the time for breakfast approached, the more harried and unsure of herself she felt.

Jørgen had a peaceful night for a change, and was eager to get to the meat of the issue.

Carlos just wanted to see Elsa. He could hardly think of anything else.

The guard stopped at the door and pushed it open to allow Carlos to enter first. He hadn't taken three steps into the room when a slight girl with strawberry-blond braids glomped him. "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou_**so**__much!_ You_saved_my_sister_ and itwasjust_totally_awesome and someofthe_guards_toldme aboutthe_assassins_ 'cause they're_really_dangerous and goodatwhattheydo and Idon't_**even**_knowhowyou_managed_it and we_**all**_thinkyou'recool and thankyou_so__**much**_forsavingElsa!"

That tirade spilled out of the girl in under eight seconds, which gave Carlos just enough time to regain his composure. He gave her a quick squeeze and then broke her clutch. "You are welcome. It was my honor."

"Anna?"

The girl turned back to the Queen, who Carlos now saw sat opposite him at an octagonal table. Her hair was down, lying across her left shoulder in a thick braid. It made quite a statement … enough of one that it was several seconds before he noticed Jørgen sitting just to her left.

"Anna," she said, her eyes never wavering from Carlos's, "I feel sure Señor de la Maria would like some breakfast. You may hug him later if you must."

She blushed prettily and skipped back over to the table. "Sorry, Elsa." Turning shining eyes back to Carlos, she appended, "But it really was cool. You know, what you did."

He bowed to her, then to Jørgen, and lastly, low and with flourishes, to the Queen. "Well met."

She indicated the chair nearest him. "Please have a seat."

They started with a variety of fresh and candied fruit paired with light pastries. "So, Señor de la Maria…" began Elsa.

"Please, call me Carlos."

She fought down a blush. "Very well … Carlos … ah, yesterday you … made mention of a healing aura."

"Yes. I use it to accelerate the repairs my body undergoes when I am wounded, or, in this case, poisoned."

"I'd be interested," opined Jørgen, "to know if I can learn it, too."

Carlos shook his head. "Sadly, no. It is an innate magical ability."

"But … but you said you could teach _**me**_," Elsa said, worriedly. "Was that …"

"That is because we are … similar."

"… How so?"

He laid his fork down and laced his fingers together under his chin. "I did mention that the tale would be long, I believe."

"You did."

"So." He sat back and sought her gaze. "Does any of you know the legend of the seventh son of a seventh son?"

Jørgen cleared his throat. "Um … supposedly such a person has some sort of affinity for magic?"

"That is one popular theory. But if you have met such a man – and I have, several times – you may understand that he is no more inclined to magic than any other random person."

"So how does …"

"The legend is worded incorrectly." His piercing eyes flicked between the sisters a few times. "Tell me … how much do you know about your mother's grandmother's grandmother's grandmother?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It isn't the seventh son of a seventh son. It's the seventh uninterrupted _generation_ of sons … or daughters."

Anna wrinkled her nose. "Uninterrupted? From what?"

"From involvement with the Fey."

Both women got a chill. "The Elves?" said Elsa. "The Wee Folk?" asked Anna.

"I wouldn't call them by that name; they might take offense to being depicted as harmless. The Fey are wild and unpredictable and insanely powerful, and it typically behooves mortals to leave them well alone. But sometimes … sometimes one of the Court will love a human. In my case, as well as I've been able to track it back … well, let me put it this way . . . . . . .

_. . . . . . . Once upon a time there lived in the village of Queralbs, high in the Pyrenees Mountains, a valiant knight. He had fought bravely in many battles, but due to grievous wounds he was no longer able to take the field of honor. So he retired to a quiet life, keeping a cottage in a large garden at the edge of town, and telling stories to the children who came to visit (and sneak the occasional pear from his trees)._

_It happened one day during the harsh winter of 1428 that the Spirits of Earth grew angry, and made the land shake so that most of the buildings in his village and in many others around fell to pieces. But his cottage was small, and made of cob, and so it rode out the earthquake, and he took no harm. Very soon, although his leg was stiff where a spear thrust years ago had damaged his hip, he set out in the deep snow to see how his neighbors had fared, and how he could help._

_He came upon many crushed homes, and many who had died or were dying, and he wept with sorrow over the destruction of his village. But he kept looking. By and by, he thought he heard the thin wail of an infant, and urged his stiff leg on through the cold, searching and searching until he discovered where the babe was secreted. To his amazement, the child was as brown as a nut, with eyes and hair of the truest green, and he knew her to be one of the __**dianae**__, the Fey of that region. Carefully wrapping her in soft blankets, he made his way back home._

_He named her Diana and cared for the babe through that winter, finding through many frustrating trials what she could or would eat, and how best to keep her happy. But this task was not without peril, for it seemed that Nature would conspire from time to time to harm the child. Once an avalanche chased him down his mountain, and it was only through heroic exertion that he saved them both alive. Another time a sudden storm threatened to wash them away, and he had to swim as no man had swum before to rescue her from the torrent. Yet again did a clever Ermine find a way inside the cottage, and made to eat the child, but the knight smote it and caught the babe alive from its mouth._

_One day in early spring he had need to travel to another village to purchase leather, so he rigged a satchel to carry Diana and set off with his sword and his trusty staff. It happened that as he was passing through a wild area, a pack of wolves got his scent and began to follow. He made haste, but his old injuries meant that he could not run quickly, and soon the wolves were upon him. He fought them bravely, keeping the child safe, and managed to climb a gnarled oak, where they could not reach him. Then the eldest wolf came and growled to him, "Give us the child, and you may go free."_

_You many imagine his wonder at hearing a wolf speak, but he stubbornly refused the beast's offer. "I will not imperil my immortal soul over such a small thing as my life, and if you want this child, you will have to kill me first!"_

_Then the wolf stood up on its hind legs and assumed the form of a maiden full fair, and dressed in white and gold. "In sooth, that is what I had foretold you would say." Then the other wolves became youths and maidens and began to dance around the tree._

_The knight realized that he was in the presence of the Fey, and clambered down out of the tree. "Forgive me for not recognizing you!"_

"_Oh, indeed, it was done to test you. When I realized you had found my sister, I set myself to prove your worth, and you have heeded so well to your Knightly code of honor that you have won my heart." She held out her hand to the knight. "If you would so swear, Sir Knight, I would become your wife."_

_Glad he was of such a good match, and the banns were soon published. He lived a long and happy life with his Faerie wife, and she bore him sons and daughters. . . . . ._

"And that knight," concluded Carlos, "was my father, seven times removed. His son sired a son, and so on, until the seventh generation, when I was firstborn of my family." He leaned toward Elsa. "I would quite _comfortably_ wager my life that your mother-seven-times-removed was mated with a Faerie, or was one herself."

Anna and Elsa stared at him and then at each other, shocked into silence. Jørgen interjected, "But how can you know that?"

"Simple. There are three kinds of magic in our world: Divine Magic, gifted by God through the Saints; Profane Magic, supported by demons and practiced by sorcerers; and Innate Magic, such as the Fey have." Pointing at Elsa, he continued, "There are hundreds of different stories about you currently circulating in Europe and Africa, but one thing most of them have in common is that you were born with your gift. That's also what I was told here, several times."

"It … It's true. I was. But … but why would that mean …"

"If it were Divine Magic, you would know. Profane Magic may only be bargained for, and a babe cannot do that. That only leaves Innate Magic. You are one of the Fey-touched."

Elsa nibbled her lower lip (from which Carlos had to tear his eyes by sheer force of will) and asked, "So … what else does that entail? Do you have ice powers, too?"

He shook his head. "I do not. It is different for each of us."

"Oh. So there are more of … us?"

"Eh, only a few. It is rare for seven generations to cleave to one sex or the other, and rarer still for the Fey to mate with a human. I have only met two others in my travels, and only one of them had met another. And she was old. Very, very old."

Jørgen observed, "You don't appear old enough, yourself, to have done all that much traveling. I'd peg you at somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. How'd you meet these other … Fey-touched?"

"Ah, well," he answered with a fleeting smile. "Appearances, as they say, can be deceiving. That is another aspect of Faerie lineage that I uncovered over time."

"What is?" Elsa wanted to know.

"Agelessness."

Queen Elsa wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway. "When you said that other … Fey-touched that you met was 'old' … what, exactly, does that mean?"

"She had lost count somewhere beyond a thousand. But the tribes nearby swore she had been the island's Wise Woman for at least forty generations."

Jørgen gave him a keen stare. Anna gasped. Elsa grew pale. She cleared her throat. "And … then, how … how old are you?"

"I was born on the Mediterranean coast in Carthagena in the fall of 1584." He let them absorb that for a few seconds, and followed up with, "I will be two hundred and thirty-six years old in a few months."

. . .

. . .

_A/N: I'm not making this a habit on purpose, honest._

_All comments welcome!_


	10. Explanation

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note:__I always thought that History class had the potential to be the most engaging of any subject offered in high school. It should have been the like best novel ever written. And the schlub they chose to teach it (read: the chromosomally-challenged baseball coach) always managed to screw it up._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 9: Explanation**

. . .

. . .

_Monday 26 July 1820, 8:55am_

The three stared at Carlos for a few seconds before Jørgen declared, "I'm calling bullshit on that."

"Jørgen!" objected Elsa. "Language!"

"Sorry, your Majesty."

The Spaniard shrugged. "If that is your wish. You wanted to know my age and I told you." He speared a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth.

Anna piped up, "So what do you do? I mean, Elsa could frost her crib practically from birth and make snow when she was barely a year old. If you don't do ice …"

He swallowed, took a sip of the thin wine they'd been served, and said, "Fire."

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "Fire."

"Yes."

"In what way?"

"I can produce it and direct it at will. I can make it hot enough to fuse sand into glass, or large enough to immolate a small valley." Half his face grinned ruefully. "What I _can't_ do is keep it from burning my clothes off."

Practically in unison, Anna and Elsa colored and glanced away.

"I'd like to see some proof," said the Captain.

"Very well. I will be happy to give you a larger demonstration later, when we are no longer in mixed company, but if I concentrate and keep the flame very small …" He held out a hand and frowned, whereupon a small, yellow-white flicker appeared in his palm. "I understand," he said tightly, watching the flame closely, "that you, my Queen, are unaffected by cold."

Elsa stared at the flame, entranced. "… Yes. That is so." She could _feel_ the magic flowing through him, wild and fierce, and the thought that bubbled up was, _I'm __**not**__ alone!_

"Neither does heat bother me." He carefully tended the fire, allowing it to float up a handspan above his palm and making it into a ball. "But the fire wants to get away from me. It wants freedom _so badly_, and I have to fight it."

Elsa nodded. "I understand. So well do I understand that feeling."

Carlos clenched his fist and the light went out, a puff of smoke wafting upward.

Anna said, "Elsa!"

That startled her. "What?"

"Make a snowball!"

"… Um."

"Please! Just make one."

Elsa did, and had it hover in front of her over the table. "Okay. What now?"

"Now, Mister … de …"

"Carlos."

"Right, yeah. Carlos, make your fire again."

He sighed and concentrated once more, and soon the ball of flame danced above his hand.

"Okay, Elsa, put the snowball on the fire."

"… What for?"

"I wanna see what the combination does."

"It will make a large quantity of steam," replied Carlos, grinning a little. "I have used my flame on snow before."

"But you haven't used it on hers." She tossed a dried fig into her mouth and looked back and forth between them, eyes sparkling as she chewed.

The two of them blinked at her, both of them considering …

The snowball lofted over and intersected the ball of flame.

The resulting silent detonation of pure light left Jørgen and the Princess blinking purple spots from their eyes.

Anna jumped up anyway, clapping. "Wheeeeeeee! That was great!"

Elsa and Carlos were both shuddering in their seats, eyes and mouths wide open.

_**The Rush …**_

_**The Ecstasy …**_

_**The Release …**_

They were audibly panting, and as soon as she noticed, Anna placed a worried hand on her sister's arm. "Hey, you okay?"

The Queen recovered first and turned to her. "… Anna …" She had to swallow a couple of times and refocus her eyes. "Anna. How did you know …"

"I didn't. I just wanted to see what happened when two different magicks went criss-cross."

Carlos was having a great deal of trouble regaining his balance. Hamaraja's prophecy came to him again: _"One day you will meet a woman who is your equal in every way. A thousand-thousand souls will thrive or perish depending on how you react and what you do."_

"Sir?" inquired the Captain, "are you well?"

"… I never … felt … anything like that …" He was afraid to meet Elsa's eyes, afraid of what he might see there … afraid of what he might _**not**_ see.

"I think …" said Elsa at length, "that we should … avoid doing that again … for now."

_For now?_ Carlos could hear the uncertainty, the longing in her voice, for it was reflected in his very heart. But he made himself nod. "I think that would be wise." He drew a couple of deep breaths and sat up very straight. "Thank you, Anna, for that … instructive episode."

"Yes," agreed Elsa, fighting the color that stubbornly crept into her cheeks, "thank you."

Jørgen swallowed a jam-laden bit of puff paste and cleared his throat. "Last night you were going to tell us why you came to Arendelle in the first place."

Carlos blinked at him. _Come on, brain, pull it together!_ "Ah. Yes. Yes, I wanted to do that." He refocused, finally, and frowned. "I, ah, have a number of different … _identities_ in various places around Europe. That is an unavoidable outcome of living three normal lifetimes."

"So you say."

Carlos smirked, intrigued. "Why do you doubt me? I have no reason to lie."

"It's a bit too fanciful. Let's just say I never met an immortal before."

"So the fire and the healing and the strength are perfectly normal?"

Jørgen's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. "Okay. Your point."

"The _**Fey**_ are immortal, as far as I know. I have only ever met one, and have no desire to do so again. He was completely terrifying. But I'm _not_ immortal. Just durable."

Anna asked, "Are the trolls related to the Fey?"

"I would assume so. They wield innate magic. But they aren't a part of the High Courts, so they aren't immortal. Long-lived and tough, yes, but they do age and die eventually, as I expect I will."

"Yeah, they're pretty tough. And heavy. They're rocks."

"Well, dense, anyway. If they were truly rock they couldn't be …" He stopped himself, about to finish with 'alive', but then recalling Olaf. "Hmm. I may have to rethink some of the things I thought I knew about the Fey." Looking at Elsa, he asked, "Did you intentionally make Olaf to be … alive? He's self-aware, and intelligent – well, sort of – and has all the standard qualifications, except that he's made of snow."

Shaking her pretty head, Elsa replied, "No, I didn't know I was doing anything but building a snowman."

"You meant for Marshmallow to be alive, though," interjected Anna. "You told him to kick us out, and boy did he!"

Coloring again, Elsa said, "I'm very sorry about that. I was trying … if I'd known how …"

Anna reached over and gave her sister a quick squeeze. "I know, we talked all that to pieces already. It's okay, really, since it all worked out and stuff." She turned to Carlos. "There's another snowman up at Elsa's ice palace. He's alive, too."

A puzzled expression clouded Carlos's face. "Ice palace?"

Elsa cocked her head at Anna. "You know, I never did repair that place. And I'm sure it's still full of snow from the winter storms. Maybe after the wedding I can see to that." She got a slightly dreamy expression. "It would be a great place to go to relax."

Carlos shook his head. "We got off topic. Sorry about that. Okay, the reason I came to Arendelle was to warn you about an attempt on your life."

Jørgen leaned back and laughed at that. "And you succeeded handsomely, I'd say."

"I'm sorry. I didn't have a time frame, just a threat I'd intercepted."

"From whom?"

"Ah … well, that is to say …"

"Friend of yours?"

"Under no circumstances. But, look, he's doing this on his own hook as far as I know, so I'm pretty sure the Pope doesn't even know anything about …"

"The Pope!" exclaimed Elsa. "Why would … wait, you said …"

"_**Not**_ the Pope. Cardinal Papella. He's the Pope's personal secretary, and a thoroughgoing bastard of the first water, but Pius VII has been too busy worrying about the rebellion in Spain and setting up new dioceses in the Americas to care what happens here. I don't think he's even taken an official stand one way or another on the question of your powers, my Queen."

That, thought Elsa, was fortunate. What she did not need, now or ever, was some big brouhaha with the Catholic Church over whether or not she was a sorceress. "I see. Well. It seems you already neutralized the threat."

"Two of them, maybe. But …"

"Two?"

"… Ah. The assassins and the huge influx of criminals."

"I _**knew**_ that was you," said Jørgen, pointedly.

"Um. One does what one may. In any case, we can't discount the possibility that he may have another arrow or two nocked. I would recommend continued vigilance."

A barked laugh signaled Jørgen's reaction to that statement. "Truly? I'd never have thought of that."

Anna asked, "But why you?"

"Beg pardon?"

"You said you intercepted a message?"

"Yes. I was acting as a courier."

"A courier? Whatever for?"

"Ah … well, you must understand a few things." He clasped his hands and leaned on the table. "When you have as much time on your hands as I do, sometimes you try new things to keep it fresh. I had left my estates in Spain and traveled to Rome to get away from that annoying civil war currently tearing up the countryside."

"You didn't want to fight in it?" Jørgen wanted to know. "Seems to me you could have decided a few battles single-handedly."

Carlos shook his head. "It's not up to me. I once did that, a long time ago, which is how I won my lands in the first place, because I was born a peasant. I was knighted on the field and later awarded an estate."

"An estate? So you _**are**_ rich."

"Well, as to that, yes, but it came through time and effort. By trading and investing, I built up my wealth to … rather embarrassing heights. The disagreement powering the conflict in Spain right now is almost entirely clerical in nature and of no interest to me. I paid a bribe to both sides to leave my lands alone, and took my leave."

"Clerical," mused Elsa. "So … you _**are**_ Catholic, though, are you not?"

"My Queen, I am a soldier and a Christian, and a very, very simple one. I eschewed the use of further labels many, many years ago."

She found herself inordinately pleased with that admission, but hid her smile.

"So. As I said, this Cardinal has an unhealthy fascination with your abilities. He refers to you in his letters as the Ice Witch."

"I am no witch!"

"This I know. You are Fey-touched. And from what I gathered in visiting several taverns when I first got here, your actions in nearly offering up your own life in defense of your people – more than once – were as Christ-like as any I have ever seen. I am not worried for the state of your soul."

She blushed and dropped her eyes.

Anna's fork clattered to her plate. She pointed at Elsa and crowed, "That's what I said! Isn't that what I said, Jørgen? And the bishop agreed with me, too!"

"Anna, please," begged Elsa. "Can we change the subject?"

Jørgen asked, "So did you ever have to use your fire powers in battle?"

A sober expression came to rest on Carlos's features. "Have to? Doubtful. Did? Yes. Once."

"I take it the results weren't what you desired?"

"No. I have been in hundreds of battles through some fifteen wars on three continents, and lost count of the number of men I killed a century and a half back. That is what comes with being a successful warrior, and the vast majority of them, I do not regret. What I _**do**_ regret is telling my liege lord one time of my abilities."

"And he insisted you use them?"

"He did."

"And a lot of men died?"

"Unnecessarily. I wanted to demonstrate to the opposing force that our superior powers could crush them. See, _that_ lord had two sorcerers working for him, and they had cast a plague on some of our men. So _my_ lord wanted them dead."

"God, I hate sorcerers! I was in an army that faced off against one once."

"Really?" asked Carlos, suddenly interested. "What happened?"

"He summoned a demon."

"Oh, ouch."

"No shi- um …" Giving Elsa's suddenly-stern face a glance, he amended, "no kidding."

"How'd you …"

"We had some archers with blessed arrows. They sneaked into the other army and managed to kill the sorcerer."

"Good."

"So what happened with you?"

Carlos didn't say anything for a few seconds, then, "The fire got away from me."

"… Oh."

He drew a long breath. "The sorcerer tried to take my fire away from me, and it resisted. I lost control. The entire opposing army – and some miles of countryside beyond them – was consumed."

Things were quiet for a bit as they all absorbed that. Finally Carlos admitted, "I've never used it offensively since."

"And that was the only time?"

"Oh, no. When I was young, about fourteen, some three years after I was run out of my village, I …"

"What?"

He looked over at Elsa. "Um … I was about four when I discovered I could make a spark pop out the end of my finger. It was fun, and I started setting things on fire. I burned down half the village, but nobody found out I had done it, and it scared me so badly I repressed it _hard_ for years. When I was eleven, this gang of thugs cornered me and started to beat me up, and the fire … erupted. Burned my clothes off and killed the whole gang. But some of the villagers saw, and … well." He took a drink and then stared into the glass. "I spent the next few years on the run."

"My Lord!" exclaimed the Queen, "How did you survive?"

"Barely."

"That's horrible!"

"So is what _**you**_ went through." He glanced up and caught her eyes. "I was frequently hungry. But you were always alone."

She grew very quiet at that.

Carlos cleared his throat and took another sip. "So. I was in Navarre somewhere, trying not to starve when a couple of young men I thought were friendly took me by surprise. Got knocked on the head and press-ganged onto a merchant ship. I came to my senses chained to an oar bench. I, ah, lost my temper, you could say."

Anna, who seemed utterly captivated by these stories, asked breathlessly, "Did you sink the ship?"

"That one? No. I melted the chains off, killed the taskmaster, the captain, and the first mate, and took control of the ship. I knew enough to head south, away from the English, and the rest of the men on board were all convinced I was a demon and so did anything I told them to do."

"Where'd you sail to?"

"Heh. Not far at first. The very next day we ran afoul of a French patrol frigate. She fired on us. I returned the favor."

Jørgen nodded. "And _**that**_ ship sank."

"What was left of it did."

"Now I _**really**_ have to see a demonstration."

"We can arrange that. If you've got a remote valley with nothing in it, or a barren crag you think you can do without." He finished his wine and leaned back. "A few weeks later we ran the ship aground off Morocco. I don't know where everyone else went, since no one would talk to me, but I stayed in the area for a few months regaining my strength, then wandered off into the desert."

"How," asked Elsa, "did you learn you could heal yourself? That doesn't seem connected to fire in any way."

"Oh, it's not. I, ah, traveled extensively, somewhat later in life. I met the first other Fey-touched in the Punjab, a man named Hamaraja. He was about four hundred years old at the time."

"Oh, my."

"He was very wise. While I could wield fire, his gifts lay in Farsight and Prophecy. He also knew a very great deal about how to use the mind like a tool. One of the things he taught me was the creation of the Healing Aura. The human body is amazingly easy to piece back together given the right motivation."

Anna held up a finger. "But regular humans can't do it?"

"I've never met one that could learn the trick." He canted his head a bit and regarded her closely enough that she felt the need to fidget. "You might be a special case, though, given that Elsa's your sister. We can try, if you like."

"Okay. But teach her first." She reached over and took Elsa's hand. "If there are gonna be assassins after her, I want her to be able to fix any damage they do."

"An excellent suggestion."

"I concur," said Jørgen.

"So …" Elsa paused, mulling over her next question. "So, did he teach you any other … what I mean is, I was told that you … jumped over the high wall."

"Well … climbed it very quickly might be more accurate. Are you referring to my enhanced strength?"

She nodded.

"That simply develops over time. You will get stronger, too, just as your powers will."

"My powers?"

"Yes. My fire and my strength have increased with age. At the moment I am somewhere between four and five times as strong as a strong man, and my flame can be more than twice as potent as it was a hundred years ago. Given how amazing your abilities are at your tender years, I should think that, given a hundred years or so, you would be able to freeze the entire continent solid if you felt so inclined."

Elsa got a panicked look on her face. Frost covered the table. Ice crept across the floor.

"Elsa!" cried Anna, "what's wrong?" She grabbed her sister in a hug, heedless of the frigid condition of her skin. "Elsa, listen! It's okay! We're safe."

Turning brimming eyes on her younger sister, the Queen stood and embraced her. The ice stopped spreading. She whispered, "A hundred years."

Anna pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes. "What?"

"A hundred years. Or two hundred." She turned her head to stare at Carlos, who looked none too sanguine about his position. "You're over two hundred years old."

"… Yes?"

"How long will you live?"

"I'm not sure. Probably somewhere between one and two thousand years."

Elsa squeezed Anna tightly, buried her face in the shorter girl's shoulder, and sobbed.

Carlos caught Jørgen's eye and made a gesture of confusion. The Captain shrugged, just as lost as the other man.

The tableau held for most of a minute before Elsa rounded on her visitor. "You mean to tell me," she queried, between sniffles, "that I'm going to outlive all my family?"

_Oh! So that's it!_ He cleared his throat. "Well … yes. If you can avoid dying by accident or murder. It comes with the Fey heritage." He spread his hands. "I'm very sorry. It isn't anything I have any control over, any more than you do."

Haunted eyes held his. She whispered, "How do you bear it?"

Dropping his gaze to the frost-covered table, he considered his answer before opening his mouth. "My … early life was very different from yours. You have been sheltered in more ways than one. By the time I had turned twenty-one, Death was an old friend … or at least a constant companion. I had killed nearly five hundred men and seen ten times that many die. If I wanted to preserve my sanity, I had no choice but to become a little hard." Directing his stare to a spot somewhere past her shoulder, he continued, "I've been married twice. My first wife, Julia, was … not strong. We had one child, and that laid her low for months. She died of a fever when the boy was seventeen. I was fifty-three when we married and had realized shortly after that I was not aging like other men. I began bleaching my hair to hide my youth, but …" He sighed and tapped a finger on the table a few times. The frost whiffed to steam within a foot of his hand, and he frowned and clenched his fist. "Sorry. These memories are largely unpleasant. I arranged to pass on my lands to my son, Paulo, when he was twenty-one, and then I planned out my murder."

"Your what?"

"To leave him the free and clear owner, I faked my death. After that, I traveled into the …"

There was a commotion outside the door, which then burst open, admitting a guard, who pulled up very short at the sight of Carlos standing with his blades drawn, and Elsa with slitted eyes and blue swirls of magic around her hands. "Um … Sir! Come quickly!"

The Watch Captain jumped up and trotted around the table. "What is it?"

"The prisoners, Sir, they're gone!"

Anna gasped. Elsa and Carlos looked at each other.

Jørgen asked, "Which ones?"

"The assassin, and ten others, nine of the thieves we had caught …" He cast a brief, walleyed glance at Elsa. "… and Prince Hans."

. . .

. . .

_A/N: And now things are about to get interesting._

_All comments welcome!_


	11. Intuition

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of the wonderful readers who have contacted me or left reviews or added this story to their Favorites lists. You guys are awesome__._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 10: Intuition**

. . .

. . .

_Several Hours Earlier_

Some of the palace guard, Filip for example, thought of dungeon duty as a sort of mini-vacation. There wasn't much to it, and it gave one plenty of time for naps (or meditation, if that was your thing … which was _**not**_ true for Filip). All they really had to do most of the time was watch for the people delivering the food and let them in and out. Considering that it was still a couple of hours until dawn, he felt quite comfortable in leaning his chair back against the rough stone, pulling his helmet down over his face to block the lamp light, and catching ten or twenty winks.

Others (the more active ones) thought of it as the very measure of tedium. Especially on night shift, as Bernt thought, just watching the prisoners as they slept was _**incredibly**_ boring. The sergeant knew how he felt, but had placed him here anyway. Told him it would build character. Lying son of a bitch.

He noticed that Filip was asleep again. A wolfish grin took over his face as he silently slipped up beside him and used a foot to give the rear leg of the chair a sharp rap. It skidded along the damp floor, dumping Filip on his back, and Bernt hooted a laugh. "Wakey-wakey!"

But Filip just lay there.

Bernt bent over the man and shook him. "Hey! Fil! Come on, I know you didn't hit your head … that …" He saw something metallic protruding from the side of Filip's neck, jerked up, and pulled his sword just as the second tiny missile lodged in the carotid artery under his jawline. He gagged, doubled over onto the flagstones, spasmed twice and lay still.

Two black-clad figures glided into the corridor and down to the assassin's cell. He had heard them coming and used the few intervening seconds to free himself from the stocks by using his toes. He was rubbing his wrists when they got to him. "It took you long enough," he complained in a burst of Russian.

"We thought you'd get out by yourself." The speaker studied the cell door. "Ah. Fully enclosed hinges. That's overkill for a dungeon door."

"And why I had to wait on you."

The man who had so far been silent pulled a small vial and a thin, golden tool out of a pouch. "Stand back."

The prisoner squeezed himself into a corner. The other man positioned the tool tip over the door's bolt and carefully allowed a few drops of fluid from the vial to drip onto the runnel of the blade. They ran down its length and onto the thick iron, immediately hissing loudly. A cloud of dark smoke flowed away from the contact point and in less than a minute the violently reactive stuff had eaten it completely away. He pushed the door open and advised, "Don't step on the puddle."

"Oh, thank you so much for the tip. I developed that stuff, you know."

The second man tossed him a bundle of clothes. "We've found out a little bit of information about the man that killed Georg and the Ivans."

He pulled on the shirt and began tying things. "Yes?"

"For one thing, he's still alive."

The ex-prisoner's mouth dropped open. "That … is not possible. I hit him! I know damn well …"

"Yeah, you hit him. Got him in the shoulder. Their surgeon pulled the knife out himself. Kept it."

"… Then he's dead."

"Wrong. He's very much alive."

"How?"

"Managed to heal himself. We think he's a sorcerer."

The former prisoner thought that over. "That would explain his speed."

"Fast?"

"You wouldn't believe it. I fought him, and I can barely believe it."

"He has ensorcelled himself for quickness, then, and probably for other things as well. Doubtless he is planning to usurp the throne at some point. We will have to use a more subtle approach when we kill him."

"And stay out of the castle until we are ready. I have no desire to fight hellhounds again."

The first man executed an abbreviated nod. "I brought some blessed items with me."

The other two gave him an incredulous look. One said, "That last sorcerer really spooked you, didn't he?"

"What? Be prepared, right?"

The ex-prisoner said, "Eh. Sure," then pointed down the corridor. "By the way, I think there's someone here who would be most eager to help us fulfill our contract. For free."

"You mean that disgraced prince?"

"I do. Such a litany of hatred I have rarely heard before. We should take him with us, as he has knowledge of the royals."

"I didn't bring very much of the acid."

"You won't need it. Only the first three cells have the special hinges. The rest of them are simple drop-ins."

"… That's just weird."

"Hey, I didn't design the place. I guessed you couldn't find the keys, or you would have used them."

"Correct."

As soon as the prisoner was finished getting dressed, they slid down to Hans's cell and stared at him. "Doesn't look much like a prince."

"Neither would you if you'd been treated the way he has."

Two of them lifted the heavy door high enough to dislodge it from its hinges, then levered it out of the way. The noise woke Hans, who gaped at them in shock. "Who are you?"

"Someone who can do you a big favor."

"I don't need any false favors from the Witch Queen," he spat. "Take your bad joke elsewhere."

The speaker laughed at him. "We are no friends of the Queen. You want out or not?"

His feral gaze stared them down for a moment, then he nodded and got shakily to his feet.

The man walked into the cell and picked the lock on Hans's manacle. "You want a little payback?"

Eyes narrowed dangerously, he growled his answer.

"Good enough. Come on."

"Wait. I need some men for a special job. How many are you?"

"Five, at present, and we have a job already. All we need from you is information."

"And all I need is revenge." Peering down the corridor, Hans asked, "Will some of _**them**_ do?"

The three conversed silently for a few seconds, then one of them said, "Sure."

. . .

. . .

_Monday 26 July 1820, 11:00am_

The King's Library echoed with the sounds of argument as Anna stomped her foot. "You gotta _go ahead_ and _teach_ her that _**healing**_ thing!"

"Which would probably take _**days**_, and those are likely days we don't _**have!**_ That's why I want to set up the wards first!"

Elsa stepped in between her sister and their guest. "And I believe we should just calm down." She pointed at Anna, then at a chair by the large fireplace. "Sit."

"But …"

"Sit. Down."

With a monumental grump, she did so.

The door opened and Juan stuck his head in the room. "Everything okay?"

Carlos waved him off. "Just a difference of opinion."

"Pretty loud difference."

"We'll try not to disturb the sanctity of your repose."

"I could referee if you want."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're fine."

Juan shrugged. "Suit yourself. All clear out here." And he shut the door again.

Turning to Carlos, Elsa said, "Tell me of these wards."

"I know two kinds. There are dozens if you know how to fabricate them, but I was able to learn two that I thought useful. One is the _Dome of Spleen_. If someone who means you harm crosses its sphere of influence, you will get … a sort of notification. You'll know where he is from then on, until he gets more than a thousand paces away from you."

"I like that. Can you teach me?"

"I can show you. Then you can try it. It's not hard. At least, I didn't think so, and Hamaraja told me I really didn't have much aptitude for that sort of thing."

Anna piped up, "And what if she gets skewered while you're fiddle-fartin' around with these ward thingies?"

He came over and knelt in front of her, taking her hand, which caused her to color slightly. "Princess Anna, I vow upon my life that your sister-Queen will come to no harm while a drop of blood remains in my body."

Behind him Elsa stifled a gasp.

"I stopped them before. I can do so again. Setting up the wards will only aid me in this effort."

Staring at his hand, Anna drew a breath, cleared her throat, and drew another. His near presence was … formidable. "Okay. If you're sure."

"Thank you." He stood and walked over to Elsa, who held his gaze steadily. "My Queen, I would like to begin in the rooms you will most commonly occupy."

"Very well. That is … sound."

"I do have one question for you before we start, though."

"Yes?"

"Have you any practice in viewing the astral plane?"

"… Sorry?"

"I'll take that as a 'no', then." He glanced around and then chose two overstuffed chairs, moving them so that they faced each other. Then he indicated that she should take a seat.

When they were both comfortable, he began, "The visible world is not the only one there is."

"I'd suspected as much, given what I can do."

"Exactly. Now, the Fey can move between these worlds at will, which is what makes it nearly impossible to pin one down. They also have free access to the magic that swirls constantly in the other planes, which is what makes them so insanely dangerous."

"And you said you'd met one?"

"Yes, once. He … It? She? Whatever, it was curious about my dual heritage. It tried to get me to accept a favor from it, but I did know _**that**_ much about them."

"That would be bad?"

"If you owe one a favor, it basically owns you."

"… Oh."

"And, yes, that would be bad. He held me in a verbal sparring match for most of a day, trying to trick me into taking the boon."

"How did you get away?"

"Something distracted it. It lost interest in me and vanished, looking for its fun elsewhere."

"Lucky."

"Truly. In any case, the astral plane is a sort of limbo between ours and the adjacent planes. It has no magic of its own, but is _**heavily**_ infused with magic that leaks in from at least four other planes."

"How do you know all this?"

"Two hundred years' worth of research on my own, and about a thousand years' worth on the part of the other Fey-touched I encountered."

"That man you mentioned? Hamaraja?"

"He was one of two. The first I met. He had a home in the Punjab region, on this rocky outcrop that was nearly inaccessible. I followed local legends to track him down. He had made a study of the astral plane, and taught me much. The first thing you need to know is how to access it so you can look at it."

"And that's what you want me to do now?"

"Yes. The first step is to clear your mind of distractions, and it's usually the hardest phase." He went through several levels of instruction, guiding her in each as more than an hour passed. Anna got bored and left to grab some lunch, her four-man detail trailing in her wake.

"So …" His voice covered her like a soft blanket, his steady psychic presence a balm on her soul, easing some of the stress of her position. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even, her concentration nearly absolute. "… now that you have the keys in place, grip each one in turn in your mind." He followed along while she did so, frankly impressed at her skill. "Now … pull the veil toward you … good … now move it down so it's out of your way."

A tentative smile graced her features. "I can see it. Just as you said it would be." As she 'floated' through the opening she'd made, the billowing, silvery expanse stretched off to the horizon in her mind's eye. Slowly, she turned herself, marveling at the otherworldly landscape. "This is wonderful!" She reached out and 'touched' one of the lazily-floating tendrils, bringing it in and wrapping it around a finger.

Carlos's eyes widened in shock. "… How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"You are directly manipulating the aether of the astral plane."

"I thought that's what you meant for us to do."

He paused, thinking furiously. He had never, himself, been able to contact the aether directly, only coax it to do his will with his mind. It was one of Hamaraja's major frustrations with him. But … "You seem to have Hamaraja's gift for this."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Tremendous. You will be able to do vastly more than I ever could with it. And you already have a greater degree of raw power than he did when he was _**twenty times **_your age." Nodding to himself, he added, "It's as I had said. You are incredibly powerful. You have only to learn the details to become the most dangerous mortal being on the planet.

"May I admit that to be a little … frightening?"

"You would be unwise _**not**_ to be cautious with this level of power. I think your reservation is admirable."

Elsa examined the bit of aether she held, stretching it and forming it into a flat knot. "So what can I do with it?"

Her ability entranced Carlos as he watched her fold and weave the very stuff of creation. "Since you can mold it the way you are, the only limits are those in your mind. You are holding the basic building block of all magic. What you will learn is how to bend it to your will. Some of that you already know, and it will be similar to the way you form your ice constructions. Here, though, you will be taking the raw matter of magic and crafting it to a specific purpose."

"Like the ward?"

"Yes. Let's begin."

. . .

. . .

_3:00pm_

Elsa had had to exercise a high degree of will power to keep herself from wolfing down her lunch. As it was, she ate more than twice what she usually would have. The time they spent in viewing the astral plane, and especially in the crafting of the wards, had left her famished. Carlos, in an amused tone, had explained that it would get easier and less taxing with practice.

For his part, he was _**beyond**_ impressed with her talent. She had picked up on the ward-crafting in hardly any time at all, and had laid down a series of powerful Domes that would alert both of them if anyone of evil intent so much as stepped foot on the castle grounds.

After their meal, Elsa had felt the need of a quick nap. She'd expressed an interest in learning the other, rather more forceful ward that Carlos had described, but wanted to put that off until later, probably after supper. He, understanding her need for rest, was quick to comply. He would patrol the grounds, he declared, and see what he might be able to pick up. Perhaps if the missing Prince was in the area, he'd be able to find him.

Once up from her nap, Elsa had gone in search of her sister, feeling a desperate need for her simple, reassuring presence. Now they were tucked up on Anna's bed, her strawberry-blond braids undone as Elsa brushed her hair, while the younger girl went over the details of what she'd done with her day.

"… and then I spent most of an hour listening to Jørgen talk to his lieutenants about these assassin jerks and all the stuff they can do and all the people they've killed and a lot of 'em were pretty highly-placed and had lots of guards just like we do and it didn't do 'em any good and it's just plain freakin' _**scary**_ is what it is!"

"I don't disagree." She tugged through a small snarl of hair and got it smoothed down. "But now we'll at least know when they're coming. And we have a lot more resources to do something about it than any of the other people they've targeted."

"Jørgen's scared. I can tell. Scared for his men."

"And I don't want any more of my guards to die, either. Too many good men have already fallen over that mad Cardinal's stupidity."

"They love you, though." Anna craned her neck back to look her sister in the eye. "You know that, right?"

Elsa nibbled at her lip and gave a small nod.

"I can name a double handful who've said they could die happy if they got just one kiss."

A blush suffused her pale cheeks. "Oh, hush."

"You know it's true! Not that I blame them." She got up on her knees, turned, and hugged Elsa, mumbling into her ear, "You're the best thing to happen to Arendelle in, like, the history of ever. Everybody knows it. And none of 'em would even _**hesitate**_ to step between you and a crossbow bolt, me included."

The Queen fought down the lump in her throat and hugged Anna back. "I am so blessed."

Anna sat back on her heels and gave her sister a piercing look. "So these ward thingies …"

Elsa rubbed at her eyes and said, "What about them?"

"They'll let you know if one of those … those murderers gets inside the castle?"

"They will. We've already tested it and it works beautifully."

"But it won't _**stop**_ them."

"Not by itself. But if we know where they are, _**we**_ can stop them."

"… Is that 'we', meaning you and your Spaniard?"

The blush came back with a vengeance. "What do you mean by _**my**_ …"

"Oh, please. I've seen how you look at him. And he's so obviously besotted with _**you**_ it's a nine-days' wonder how he can keep his fire under control."

Elsa just stared at the duvet.

Anna put a soft hand on her sister's shoulder. "El? Am I wrong?"

A shake of her head was her only answer.

"So what are you gonna do about it?"

"I really wish I knew how to answer that."

"You know you could sort of encourage him, maybe just a …"

"I can't!"

Anna rubbed her sister's upper arm sympathetically.

"I'm scared, okay?" Her voice was suddenly shrill. A thin crust of frost coated the nearest bedpost.

Anna gave her a small grin. "And I'm not a bit surprised. But my question remains: Don't you like him?"

"… Like him? … No."

"Seriously? But I …"

"I don't think 'like' is quite the right word. It feels closer to … some kind of obsession."

"I knew it! I …"

Elsa stopped her with a light touch to her arm. "I go to sleep and he's in every dream. He … crops up in my mind … any time I'm not actively thinking of something else … and sometimes even then." She sniffled, picking at a loose thread in the duvet. "I have zero experience dealing with … feelings like this. My gut reaction is to suppress it, but I have it on good authority that _**that**_ would be the wrong approach. But … conversely, I'm afraid anything I say would be taken the wrong way and … and then there was that reaction when our magicks touched, and … I really, really, really want to do that again. But at the same time, I'm terrified of it." Little patches of frost came and went on various surfaces around the room as she folded over onto Anna's knee. "And with … everything else … it's not really something I have the emotional strength to focus on just now."

"Uhn. Yeah, okay. You've kinda got a lot on you."

Elsa sighed. "Once we've dealt with the assassins, maybe I'll be able to think straight enough to figure out this … whatever this … relationship thing is … but not now." She rolled over and closed brimming eyes, forcing out a small tear that left a glimmer of a track down the side of her cheek. "Not yet."

Anna gathered the taller girl back into her arms. "Okay. I won't bring it up again until after."

That won her a watery smile. "Promise?"

"No."

_*blink-blink*_ "… Fink."

"Yeah."

Elsa buried her head in Anna's shoulder and let the tears come. "Love you anyway."

"Love you back."

. . .

. . .

_6:30pm_

Supper had been a small, simple affair, quickly dispatched, and the two Fey-touched shortly found themselves back in the King's Library, with Juan parked once more outside the door. Over Jørgen's most strenuous objections, Elsa had decided to do without her personal guard until the crisis was over, stating that it was too dangerous for them, but Carlos's liege man had less-than-zero intention of leaving his master un-guarded. Elsa thought that was a sweet gesture and very commendable, but she worried for him. Carlos didn't even try to argue with him, knowing what the result would be.

The room hadn't originally _**been**_ a library, or even set up to hold books, but the girls' great-grandfather, an inveterate reader, had decided he needed a sort of hidey-hole to sneak away to when the duties of his office weighed heavy. It was an interior room, possibly designed to be used for storage, which had been its function prior to collecting one of the better sets of rare and antique books in northern Europe.

At present, it served their purposes well primarily because it didn't have any windows, so no one could spy on them. Or shoot at them.

Carlos began without preamble. "Okay, this ward is called _Tower of Thorns_. It's a protective shell that can be set up specific to one or more individuals, or it can be tied to another ward so that it activates when that one does, or you can activate it yourself."

"Sounds versatile."

"I've used it dozens and dozens of times over the last century. It really helps one get a restful night's sleep when alone in the wilderness."

"… Have you spent a lot of time alone?"

"From time to time." His gaze got distant for a moment before he shook his head to dispel a memory. "Typically of my own choosing because I got so sick of other humans."

She had to smile at that, but then she sobered and said, "Carlos …"

The uncertain lilt in her voice gave him a bit of pause. "… Yyyyyyes?"

"Do you consider yourself human?"

He didn't answer right away, leaning back in his chair instead and crossing his left ankle over his right knee. "That's a profound question, my Queen, and one that I have spent a great deal of time considering."

"So you aren't sure."

"I have some of the hallmarks of humanity. Most of them, really. But humans can't do what we can do."

"But sorcerers can work magic, and they're human."

"And I don't count sorcerers as 'human anymore', since they bargained away the most human parts of themselves."

"… Sorry?"

"You've never met a sorcerer."

"No. Is that significant?"

"You'll know it if you ever do. You'll be able to feel it."

"Feel what?

"They feel dead. Dead inside. A lot of normal humans can't tell, but you're sensitive enough that you'd notice."

"But … but why?"

"Why do they feel dead?"

She nodded. "How can they be walking around if they're dead?"

"Their _**bodies**_ aren't dead. Just empty. They don't have souls."

She gave him a few deliberate blinks. "No souls."

"No."

"… How is that even a thing?"

"They trade them for Infernal power. Demons don't work for free, and Hell's medium of exchange is human souls."

She stared at him for a good ten seconds, then got up and slowly walked to the nearest bookcase. With her back still toward him, she said, "I'd heard tales … I thought they were just to frighten the gullible."

"Sadly, no. There are those who are willing to take the deal. More of them than you might realize."

"I honestly think that's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard."

"Sorcery _**is**_ pretty horrifying. It's all dark magic, most of which is designed to kill or maim or torture."

"So that's what Jørgen was talking about."

"Yes. Some unscrupulous – or stupid – rulers hire sorcerers to beef up their armies. It is almost always a really, really bad idea." He rose and came to stand a few steps behind her. "Sorcerers learn from demons how to write contracts, and unless the ruler in question is a complete _expert_ in law, the fine print will make sure he ends up the puppet of the sorcerer. I've seen more than one kingdom where a sorcerer was running things."

"That's terrible! What do the subjects do?"

"Usually? If they see it coming, they leave, if possible. If not … things get indescribably bad for them."

She turned back to him, shoulders hunched and arms crossed as if cold. "How do you mean?"

"Sorcerers crave power above all things, and they will go to insane lengths to get it. They start wars, spread disease, create famine. Who gets hurt in the mad quest is of no concern to them." He made sure she was paying particularly close attention. "And they like to experiment on humans."

"… I don't follow."

"They use their magic to …change their victims. Transform them into things that are no longer human." He averted his eyes. "I've seen some of those poor souls."

"… Carlos …"

He gave her his attention.

"Have you … ever killed a sorcerer?"

He didn't hesitate. "Eleven. And managed to banish two by turning their own evil magicks back on them."

She stared at him for a moment, then turned back to the bookcase. "Good."

Drawing a long breath, he said, "Elsa? I didn't mean to upset you. My history could best be described as 'checkered', and that's being kind. But I really do want to show you this ward."

She shivered, but offered him a small nod by way of assent. "Very well. Let's do that."

. . .

. . .

_A/N: A little sister-time fluff never hurt anybody._

_All comments welcome!_


	12. Infiltration

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_. . ._

_. . ._

_Before we get started, I wanted to give a shout-out to the awesome bunch of people who have commented on the story thus far. You guys are The Best!_

**skywiseskychan:**_ You mentioned a worry about the scene in the Prologue, and I apologize (well ... not really) for leaving everyone in suspense for so long, but if you look carefully at THIS chapter, you might find a hint or two pertaining to it._

**musicin68:**_ Yes, indeed, that IS the first time Carlos has used her first name. I wonder what that may signify..._

**Nightbreaker:**_ Hey, the banter is what it's all about, right? Okay, maybe not ALL._

_I THINK I have answered everyone else in PMs. If I missed someone, please let me know, because I value reviews (as does every author) and wish to encourage them._

_. . ._

_. . ._

_Author's Note:__The taking of innocent sentient life for money is generally considered to be the antithesis of weal. However, just because they kill other humans as a vocation doesn't necessarily mean that assassins aren't, you know, decent people. At least that's what they think._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 11: Infiltration**

. . .

. . .

_Monday 26 July 1820, 10:30am_

Anton made to rise. "I'm going to go kill him now."

"Sit." Radimir grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"You want me to do it. You know you do."

"I know nothing of the sort. You made such a fuss and complained so much about having to talk to that ass that Nic finally volunteered to work with him to get you to stop griping … and besides, we need his information."

"I'd be willing to do without it just to shut him up."

Pavel and Miloslav both raised their hands, then looked at each other and grinned. "We'll do it."

Anton pointed at them emphatically. "See? _**See?**_"

Radimir gave the three of them a hard look. "You two, finish filling those grenades with holy water. Anton, give it a rest. Don't you need to go sharpen something?" Anton subsided, grumbling, while the others laughed at his expense.

Nicolai walked back into the house at that juncture and slumped into a chair, dropping his head into his hands. Radimir asked, "You get anything else?"

"… Yeah. You bet." His voice was slightly muffled, coming from between his hands as it was. "Turns out the Queen made this huge warrior snowman that lives in her ice castle on the mountain. Little Prince Hero-Man defeated it by whacking one of its legs off."

"… Warrior _snowman?_"

"His name is Marshmallow."

Radimir couldn't quite suppress his incredulous snort.

"And you can have the next go-round. I'm done with that idiot."

"… Right. I think that's one piece of information we can safely ignore." Grinning, the leader looked back and forth between Anton and Nicolai. "You've both dealt with madmen before this. What's so special about the Prince?"

Nicolai looked up and met his questioning gaze. "You remember Grand Duchess Elena's oldest boy?"

Radimir squinted briefly. "Paul, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"You remember that whiny bitch he took up with at his eighteenth birthday party?"

"Oh, God, do I ever. Natasha …" He snapped his fingers a few times. "Natasha …"

"Gregorov."

"Yes! Great day, but that woman would …" He stopped and narrowed his eyes at Nicolai, then gave his head a toss in the direction of the neighboring building. "You mean to tell me he's anything like her?"

"Twins separated at birth. Had to be."

"Really."

"Right. I'm done. I'd rather face that sorcerer again."

Radimir finished oiling his blades, stored them, and stood. "Very well. Since none of you ladies seems to have what it takes, I guess I'll just have to go show you how it's done."

"Good luck with that."

Forty-five minutes later, Radimir stomped back into the common room clenching his fists hard enough to threaten their blood supply, and grinding his teeth at the inanity of the man.

Anton spotted him first and leaned back in a deep laugh. "So, Brave Leader, tell us how it is done."

"Don't start."

"Did he give you anything useful?" asked Nicolai.

"Possibly. It was difficult to tell among all the grandiose threats against the Queen, petty threats against his brothers, and promises of how his reign in Arendelle is going to be the stuff of legend."

"Told you so."

"I said, don't start." He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a small bottle, uncorked it, and took a long swallow.

"Vodka, Radimir? He must have really gotten on your last nerve."

The tall man shook his head at both the slow burn of the potent drink and his companion's statement. "He had stomped _all over_ my last nerve in the first five minutes. Then he pulled out a wood rasp and started filing away what was left."

"Heh. Did he sing for you?"

"Heavenly Host on a stick, yes! That is the most horrific …"

"I know," Nic interrupted, chuckling. "He sounds like a musk ox choking on a bagpipe."

"What in the world did the Princess ever see in that man?"

"She was young and foolish and lonely. Easy prey." He paused for a second, then added, "And he probably cleans up well."

Radimir sighed. "Eh. Nothing else for it. He was talking a bit about the layout of the lower floors, when he could spare a minute from puffing out his chest, and I need to get as much information out of him as I can before nightfall."

"Ah. _**Then**_ you'll kill him?"

"Absolutely not! I don't want to be the one to send him to Hell. You think I want Lucifer himself mad at me?"

. . .

. . .

_12:10pm_

Hans dropped his spoon into his soup bowl and stared at Radimir in stark disbelief. "… What do you mean, 'not kill her'?"

"Why do you care?"

"BECAUSE I WANT HER DEAD, DAMN IT!"

The assassin had moved back out of spittle range just in time. "Well. That isn't up to you, now is it?"

"What the HELL are some of the world's best ASSASSINS going after that Ice Bitch for if you aren't going to KILL her?!"

"That's not our contract."

"… Not your contract."

"No."

"What kind of idiot hires assassins but tells them not to kill the target?"

"And that would fall under 'You Don't Need To Know'."

Hans paced the length of his room several times, building up a head of steam. "I CAN _**NOT**_ FUCKING _**BELIEVE**_ THIS! HOW CAN YOU BE SO _**OBTUSE?!**_ I THOUGHT YOU WANTED ME TO HELP _**KILL**_ HER! THIS IS INSANITY! RANK STUPIDITY OF THE WORST KIND! WHY WOULD YOU EVEN AGREE TO …"

Radimir intercepted him at the halfway point, promptly twisted him into a very painful joint lock, and smashed his face up against the rough wood of the wall. In a total deadpan, he intoned, "I have a thing or so to say to you. You are going to listen to me. You are not going to speak until I have finished. Are we clear?"

When he could blink the stars of pain out of his eyes, Hans gave a small whimper of assent.

Radimir let him go and pointed to the narrow bed. Rubbing his aching shoulder, Hans sulkily walked over and flopped down.

"It would seem to me that, given your understanding of how I earn my keep, you would not wish to antagonize me. But you haven't demonstrated a noticeably high degree of wit in any _other_ aspect of life so far, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." He glided over to stand immediately in front of Hans, which caused the Prince to have to crane his neck to look up at him. "If all we needed to do was _**kill**_ the Queen, she would have been dead within a few hours after we got here. I have an extremely accurate rifle, and with it I can pick which one of your eyes to hit at two hundred and fifty paces. But that isn't what we were paid to do. Our contract is to _**capture**_ Elsa of Arendelle. She is to have her eyes gouged out and her hands and feet cut off, then we will deliver her, bound, to our benefactor. What he does with her after that is none of my concern. Nor is it yours, beforehand. If you wish to enact a personal vendetta against her, you may do so _**after**_ we have fulfilled our contract." He leaned down until they nearly shared breath. "Until then, you will answer my questions to the best of your admittedly shaky ability, maintain a respectful distance when I don't need to speak with you, and stay _completely away_ from Elsa of Arendelle. If you harm her in any way, if you make it even _slightly_ more difficult to fulfill our contract, I will reduce the remainder of your miserable existence to such an adventure in pain that Hell's demons will be in _**envy**_. Do you understand these terms?"

Hans, his mouth gaped open, nodded.

Radimir straightened and moved toward the door. "I have preparations to make. You would be wise to stay here and stay hidden. From what I have been able to determine, the general feeling among the populace here is that flaying with salt-encrusted knives would be MUCH too merciful a death for you. You should think on that." He paused for emphasis. "We will speak later." And he left.

Hans sat there in shock for quite some time. Yes, certainly, what they had in mind for Elsa exceeded his wildest expectations for paying her back for all her insults. He would never have been able to do it by himself. But …

… but they were robbing him of his revenge! He wouldn't get to swing the sword (or light the pyre, or slowly slit her throat while watching the terror rise in her eyes, or drive a thousand nails into her, or hang her unnatural carcass from a tree in the wilderness and let the crows have her, or any of the other remarkably sick ideas he'd had for ending her life). The anticipation of feeling her spirit ebb away under his own hands was all that had kept him going for the last several weeks. He had to live long enough to escape, and then …

But he had _already_ escaped, and ultimately it would do him no good. All he could do now was sit to the side, useless, while others took the pleasure in his stead. Resentment rose like bile in his throat. He wanted _personal_ contact, had to have a _personal_ responsibility for her death.

He had to do it himself. Nothing else would suffice.

In his fevered mind, the assassin's threats paled and receded, finally becoming inconsequential beside his desperate need for closure.

And they were going to deny him that?

No, he decided.

No.

They were not.

He stood and glared around the room for a moment, then stalked over to the mirror and stared at his reflection for quite some time. He noted a thin line of blood that oozed from a cut where the wood had abraded his face, finally nodding as the pieces of his plan fell into place. He would require a razor.

. . .

. . .

_12:45pm_

The Guild had access to a lot of very intriguing toys, not the least of which was the fine 1792 Ramsden telescope that Anton employed to spy on the castle. He'd found three different perches, each at least half a league from their target, but well within the fantastic instrument's capabilities. If Elsa had been perusing a book, he could have read it over her shoulder.

It pained him slightly that such a stunning creature as the young Queen was destined for so ignominious a death. He had a great and life-long appreciation of the female form, and he'd rarely seen one as immaculate as hers. But his pain was only of the aesthetic. He had not a shred of actual conscience left in his soul, and the hideous suffering she would undergo didn't enter into his calculations at all. This was just a job. He had taken part in dozens of such contracts over the decade he'd been with the Guild.

He had to admit, though, that this contract was somewhat out of the ordinary. In almost every case, the one hiring them would want a given rival (or the rival's relatives) dead. Sometimes it would be clandestine, a poisoned dart in the dark; that would send one kind of message. Other times, the assassination would be a public affair, perhaps even messy and loud; that would send a very different kind of message. A few times, they had been instructed to make it look like an accident or natural causes, which was usually the most fun. He could get creative with situations like that.

This time, though, Anton could tell with no mental effort _**at all**_ that their benefactor held some sort of _**extreme**_ personal animosity toward the mark, though he didn't know why. They had never met, of that he was sure. And the Cardinal didn't just want her dead. He wanted her humiliated and emotionally destroyed. Then he could hold a _**very**_ public tribunal, followed by a _**very**_ public _auto-da-fé _of the Ice Witch, which he felt for some reason would secure his place as the next Pope. Privately, the assassins thought he had traded his brains for soggy wool, but for the weight of gold he was paying the Guild, they could humor him.

And really, a job was a job. It was nothing personal.

Usually.

Find the mark, take the mark, get the money. Toast another successful contract.

But they all hated sorcerers on principle, and _**this**_ sorcerer had killed three of them, and that _**made**_ it personal. That state of affairs hadn't occurred in the lifetime of any current member of the association. It was an insult to the Guild, and such insults could not be allowed to stand unanswered.

They would secure the sorcerer's head, once they had Elsa, and take it back to Russia for taxidermy. It would make a fine addition to their display case, and yet another warning to anyone who felt inclined to oppose them.

He panned around the castle, looking for one or the other of their targets, but the closest he could get was the old man who hung around with the sorcerer. He was cooling his heels in a padded chair in one of the halls fronting the south side of the palace, and (apparently asleep) hadn't budged for over an hour.

They needed to kill him, just on principle. Anyone who would work for a sorcerer wasn't stable enough to be permitted to live.

_Activity._ Someone in palace livery pushed a covered tray on a small, wheeled cart along the hallway. The old man stood up, they spoke, and then the servant left the cart and walked away. The old man knocked on the door.

Anton concentrated, adjusting his focus.

The old man opened the door and pushed the cart in, and Anton's eyes widened in alarm. Through the door, he could see a portion of a couch, upon which lay the Queen. Over and behind her stood the sorcerer … and between her head and his outstretched hands, a blue glow suffused the air. He was placing some sort of spell on her!

The old man used a foot to shut the door.

Anton sat back, agitated. _Well_, he thought, _we pretty much knew what he was. Nicolai will be pleased to know he was right._ But suspicion, even strong suspicion, was no match for seeing actual proof, and viewing the damned being enacting his evil upon the Queen chilled him as few things had in his life. His eyes hardened. Stealing her from his grasp would be doing her a favor, no matter how grisly her eventual death. At least her soul would be intact. It would be up to his team to rid the Earth of another of those accursed creatures. He began putting away the telescope.

. . .

. . .

_5:30pm_

Miloslav, who was fluent in Norwegian and conveniently blond, had gone out earlier and wandered through the market and visited a few alehouses to get as much information as he could, and had made a remarkable discovery. When he got back to their hideout and shared his findings, Radimir's grin blossomed slowly and stayed in place. "And you are sure of this?"

"Completely. She sent them _**all**_ away, along with the whole staff. According to one of the guards himself, she said enough good men had died and she thought it too dangerous for them to stay and guard her. He was positively morose about it. She even had all the guests transferred to hotels, and did they ever put up a fuss!" He chuckled. "Not as big a fuss as her sister did, though. From what I picked up, she's a right little spitfire, and utterly loyal to the Queen, and the level of bitching she pitched was epic. Anyway, the hotels are full, and are surrounded by two rows of archers with crossbows. I guess she wants to make sure we leave them alone."

"So the sorcerer is the only one left?"

"Him and his servant."

Anton piped up, "The old guy with the gray beard."

"Yeah, him."

"She's relying on her ice magic to save her," mused Radimir, "that, and the sorcerer."

"Hey," spoke up Nicolai, "maybe the sorcerer is _making_ her do it?"

The others thought that over briefly. Pavel shook his head. "Doesn't add up. You know what sorcerers are like. He's after the kingdom, and he'd want her protected, and wouldn't give two shits how many guards died to keep her safe."

"Huh," answered Radimir. "Okay. That makes sense. So it's her doing." He shook his head in disbelief. "That level of altruism can get you in a lot of trouble."

"So I guess that spell he was putting on her wasn't a mind-control thing, then," said Anton quietly.

Miloslav said, "Maybe it was a protection spell? If he knew they weren't going to have any guards …"

"Right. That makes sense, too." Radimir looked around at the other four, then picked up a grenade. "Which makes exposing her to holy water a top priority. That will break his spell, and we'll be able to get to her." They had worked out several possible ways to incapacitate the Queen so that she wouldn't be able to focus well enough to control her ice magic, and carried several gas canisters that would do nicely.

"Very well, then. Our current plan is still valid. We'll get some sleep now and start the mission at midnight."

. . .

. . .

_A/N: Someone in an earlier comment had mentioned the Eleventh Commandment: Thou shalt not screw with Queen Elsa. That's good advice._

_Please review! That's how I know how I'm doing._


	13. Fortification

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note:__The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry._

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. . .

**Chapter 12: Fortification**

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. . .

_Monday 26 July 1820, 6:38pm_

It took her a few seconds, but then Elsa realized something: Carlos had just addressed her by her given name. He called her 'Elsa'. It struck her (harder than she thought it really should) that those two syllables had never sounded quite like that before. Her name on his lips was like the caress of a fresh spring breeze through a window opened for the first time after a long winter.

A slight chill ran up her arms … and she never _**got**_ chills.

This was … it was the first time he had ever done that! They had spent _hours_ and _hours_ in conversation, and he had only ever referred to her as 'my Queen' or 'Your Majesty' until this very minute. Why? Why would he have done that?

Immediately she wondered about the depth of significance the act might carry. Did he even recognize what he'd said? Had he _meant_ to deepen the level of familiarity? Had it been a slip of the tongue? That didn't seem likely. He had been formal to a fault thus far, treating her with every respect and deference due a Queen. It was refreshing, in a way, to see and understand that he could be other than standoffish. If, that is, it had been intentional.

What could it mean?

"My Queen?"

She startled and jerked around a little. "What?"

"Begging your pardon, I asked whether you were ready. We will need to access the astral plane again."

"… Oh. Of course." Maybe it _**had**_ been a slip of the tongue. _And maybe, if we live through this, you can ask him! Right now, a bunch of very talented assassins are trying to kill you, and you've got to focus!_ She winced inwardly as her conscience chastised her for being a flighty girl. Drawing a deep breath, she prepared her mind.

Together they opened the silvery door …

. . .

. . .

_7:10pm_

The whorls and feathers and crystalline landscapes took shape rapidly as Elsa covered another window, this time with a pastoral scene from Arendelle's uplands. It was the fifth such work of art she had made in as many minutes, and Carlos stood back in rapt admiration as she wove her ice magic. _So unrelentingly beautiful! So wonderfully, perfectly formed! So exquisite in every detail!_ Tearing his eyes – by main power of will – **away** from Elsa and focusing instead on the thick frost covering the windows, he added to himself, _The ice is nice, too._

After a bit of discussion, they had decided that giving the assassins a free look inside the palace was not in their best interest, so she took care of it, whiting out the windows in the second and third floors. As an added bonus, she reinforced the crystal lattices on a microscopic level, giving the frozen coating an obdurate nature rivaling that of wrought steel plate. If once the killers got inside and then thought better of it, they certainly wouldn't be leaving through the windows.

That observation led them around to the idea of limiting access to just a few points. If they could nudge the intruders along specific paths, they could more readily control the situation. So she froze the entire roof, the rest of the windows, and most of the portals and gates, only leaving the main gate and four small out-of-the-way and easily overlooked doors free of blockage. Not that either of them thought for a second the assassins _**would**_ overlook them. They were, after all, some of the best.

They were walking back along the Southern Hall past several mounted suits of armor when Carlos stopped in front of one of them. The cessation of his tapping gait halted Elsa as well, and she came back over. Looking from him to the armor and back, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

His chin trapped between a thumb and finger, he stared hard at the plate mail suit. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Olaf." He canted his gaze over toward her.

"What about him?" But then her eyes widened and a slow, predatory grin took over her face. She chuckled and said, "Stand back."

. . .

. . .

_8:50pm_

Carlos had observed, entranced, as she wove the ward magic, taking the basic bones of the _Tower of Thorns_ and re-crafting it in her own image in a number of different ways … and some of them were very _deadly_ ways. This didn't exactly worry him, but it did puzzle him a bit, having gotten to know Elsa and her basically kind and gentle nature. It seemed out of character.

He'd made a rather tentative inquiry into the, ah, _**extreme**_ nature of the revised wards, and had received a lecture on the nature of the monarchy, how it related to the ethical and economic health of the nation, how it was necessary to the morale of the people, how it directed trade and growth … and how she had had it **Up To There** with people trying to kill her and her loved ones. If she had to enact a few hideous deaths of her own to get them to leave her alone, so be it.

But her voice shook while she said it.

And he understood. She was in an untenable situation, a young, sensitive woman cast as Commander-in-Chief of a nation, and trying to save as many of her people as she could … even if it meant chipping away at her own soul. Yes, he understood **_that_** all too well.

But he also understood that now was not the time to take up that cross. What she needed was simple, basic moral support, and that he could offer handily. He accepted her explanation at face value without further questions, and concentrated on adapting to their situation what he knew of defensive tactics.

And she really made it very easy. Hardly ever had he witnessed such works of magical art. At his suggestion she had placed many of the wards in and near her rooms. She would serve as the bait and let the assassins come to her, and that suited her current mood perfectly. Once she was finished they repaired to the kitchens for a late dinner.

"To be brutally honest," admitted Carlos as he tore off a chunk of meat from the cold turkey leg in his left hand, "I would rather do almost anything else than try to invade this palace in its current state."

"I should hope so. I worked hard enough on it." She speared a slice of pear with her fork and slid it into her mouth, chewing in reflective enjoyment before she showed him her dimple. "You had some pretty good ideas yourself."

He forced himself not to stare at the juice bedewing her lips, turning his attention instead to the drumstick. "Um … Still, there really is no telling what sorts of offensive weaponry those guys will have."

"Lesser ones than ours."

"Now don't get cocky." He picked up a small cluster of some dark berries and examined them, finally picking one off and popping it experimentally between his teeth. The rest quickly followed. "Yes, we've got a tight setup. But what if they … well, for example, what if they bring a bomb?"

"They won't."

"… And you know this because?"

"Why would they? They didn't before." She drained her wine glass and since the bottle was on his side of the table, motioned for him to get her a refill, which he shortly did.

He countered, "They won't use the same tactics, either. In their line of work, that'll get you killed."

"Don't you think that if they'd had a bomb, they would have used it up front?"

"Perhaps they simply didn't know how difficult this job would be. They seemed awfully surprised when I showed up."

"So," she ventured, her dimple growing, "you think your mere presence warrants a huge increase in firepower?"

"It would warrant their being careful. All they know about me is that I killed three of them. I'd venture to say that doesn't happen often. They would come prepared to counter my presence … as far as they know how."

She considered that for a minute, tapping one shapely knuckle against her chin. "Yes. I can see that. _**We're**_ being careful. It would be silly to think they aren't."

"It would be fatal."

"Well, then." Nicking the last roll, she stood from the table and began walking to the door. "As long as we're going in that direction, I had another idea. It's a sort of misdirection thing."

"Sounds good." He rose and followed her. "What's involved?"

"You recall how we changed the wards near the front gate?" She bit into the roll as she turned his way. A few crumbs of the crisp crust fell to her bodice.

Carlos did his best to ignore both the crumbs and the bodice, wondering if she was doing this to him on purpose. Muttering, "You mean how _you_ changed them," he thought it over. "Are you talking about the illusion?"

"I am. I think I can manage another level or two of complexity, and it will confuse them no end."

"Then by all means, let's get started."

. . .

. . .

_10:05pm_

Elsa looked from Carlos to the spot he'd marked on the flagstones and back. "What are we doing? Treasure hunting? 'X' marks the spot?"

"It's better than treasure. It's power."

She just blinked at him, one delicate eyebrow raised in perplexity. "It's a … what did you call it? Low line?"

"Ley line."

"… Lay it on what?"

"No, no. 'Ley' as in L-E-Y."

"Ooooookay. And this is … good?"

"I think it's probably the most fortuitous discovery we could have made."

"Seriously? I never even heard of a ley line before! What is it?"

Carlos knelt on the floor of the cellar, holding his hand over the chalked mark near the stones. "It's a part of the lattice of magical energy that is inherent to Earth." He moved his hand around for a bit, then held it cupped and slightly tilted. A smile grew on his face. "It's a good one, too. Strong and stable."

"If you say so."

Looking up at her, his grin intensified. "You see what I'm doing with my hand?"

"Yes?"

"Ley lines are conduits for the flow of magical energy in Earth's natural field. What I am doing is collecting some of it."

"… You can do that?"

"So can you."

She mulled that over. Then she knelt opposite him. He removed his hand and she placed hers where it had been. After a minute she looked up. "What am I supposed to be feeling?"

He frowned. "It should tingle, just slightly."

She stared, then shook her head.

He got up and moved a couple of steps away. "Try standing where I was."

A short sigh indicated what she thought of that plan, but she moved anyway and knelt again, trying to copy his motions exactly. "I still don't see how … this …" Her gaze fell to her hand. "Oh … Oh, my."

"You feel it?"

She nodded. "It's … cool? … No."

"As I said: tingly."

"… Right. … Tingly." She seemed very much caught up in the sensation. "It's like … like running my hands through a fast stream, except I'm not getting wet." She held both hands down, making a bigger cup of them. "Ohhh. That's … nice."

"It's a different _**kind**_ of magic from what you were born with, but one you can use as a power source regardless. It's the Earth magic that the trolls use."

"Oh!"

Their tableau held in silence for a few minutes as she stayed put, soaking up the magic. It was when he noticed that she had begun to glow a soft blue that he said, "That might be enough for now."

She blinked and looked up at him. "What?"

He chuckled. "I think you're getting waterlogged."

"Oh." She stood and let her hands fall to her sides, drawing a long, shuddering breath. "That … was … amazing."

"You're glowing."

Glancing at her hands, she then sent him a slightly panicked gaze. "Did I get too much? Is this safe? Am I going to …"

"Whoa, whoa, don't worry. That glow will die down after a while. Or if you tap into it."

"You're sure it won't … hurt me?"

"I fell asleep in a ley line once. When I woke up, I was glowing so brightly I didn't need a lantern for the next three nights." He left out the details of how grievously he'd been injured at the time, and how all the extra power had gone into his healing first. "Don't fret. It's fine."

"… Okay." She was studying her hands.

"If you'd like to damp it down, just use it."

"Use it?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Make something." He gestured at the stone of the passage. "Throw some icicles around or something."

"Very well." She drew back an arm and 'threw' something at the wall.

The massive construct of black ice sprang into being instantly, its base against the near wall wider than her arm's length. The point slammed into and through the ancient stones of the opposite wall, crushing them to gravel with no apparent effort and shaking loose a large drift of dust from the ceiling. She and Carlos both jumped away in shock.

"Holy shi-" She glanced up at him, blushing. "Um … shoot." _Darn it, Anna! You're rubbing off on me._

His eyes were enormous. "Did … you intend to make it that big?"

Slowly, she shook her head.

He rapped the pommel of his sword on it. The surface rang like a fine blade. "My word."

"You said it was safe!" Accusation dripped from her voice.

"Well … it's safe for you."

An exasperated _huff_ preceded her waving her hand at the colossal thing, whereupon it whiffed into mist and vanished. A quick fall of small stones poured out of the hole left behind. She stared at it for a moment, then allowed, "Guess I'll have to get the masons down here once the crisis is past."

"Your glow dimmed a little."

Examining her hands, she murmured, "Thank God for small favors."

"One other thing about using a ley line."

Her eyes snapped up. "Oh, goody. What now?"

"It gives you a lot of energy."

Holding up one luminescent hand, she remarked, "Oh, really? I'd missed that one entirely."

"General energy. What I mean is that you won't have to sleep for a while."

"… Oh." She stared off at nothing for a moment, and a half-grin crept across her lips. "Well. Considering our circumstances, that strikes me as handy. And you're right. I don't feel tired at all, and I was worn to raveled threads earlier."

"That _**is**_ lucky for us, that we found this. Now at least we'll be alert when they come."

She nibbled on her lower lip, an action that brought all sorts of inappropriate notions into Carlos's head. "Do you really think they'll come tonight?"

Taking a deep breath, he focused on the bridge of her nose, which seemed to hold less danger for him than anywhere else on her face. "I am sure of it."

. . .

. . .

_11:45pm_

Elsa's apartments included the formal Receiving Room, which was the first one off the hall, then on the right a parlor that led to a small study, and on the left a short hall that led to her dressing room and past that her bedroom. A generous bath opened off the left side of the short hall.

Carlos lounged at ease in one of the wing-back chairs opposite the love seat, where Elsa had stretched out. Given the 'formal nature of the occasion', Señor de la Maria had elected to respond by dressing formally himself, in a loose black muslin shirt and pantaloons for freedom of movement. Black gloves of the finest kid covered his hands. Soft boots of black felt, the soles impregnated with resin for traction, disguised his feet. A black silk scarf tucked loosely into a pocket was ready to cover his face but for his eyes.

He knew that he and Elsa and Juan were the only other sentient beings in the palace, and he was dead sure that the assassins would be dressed in black again. When he encountered them, every being within range of his swords would be the enemy, so he wouldn't have to pick his targets with care. But if he was dressed as they were, perhaps one of them would hesitate or slip up. Every small advantage he could get would be worth the effort. Even as prepared as the palace's inhabitants were, those guys were too good at what they did for him to underestimate them. And he didn't know how many he'd be facing.

They'd been discussing Juan, and some of the adventures they'd had together over the last thirty years, a few of which had left Elsa breathless with laughter.

Finally, though, she got pensive in her questions. "And he's really that good? I didn't think there could be anybody who was your equal with a blade, much less your master."

"He was that much better when we met. He's been teaching me for three decades now, and I _**have**_ improved somewhat." He gave a low sigh. "And Juan is getting older. Don't misunderstand, he's still probably the fourth or fifth best swordsman in the civilized world. But he's slower than he used to be. And he's developing a bit of arthritis in his right thumb."

She absorbed that. "But you won't."

"Well, no."

"And you're … what? Four times his age?"

"About that, yes."

She said nothing for three breaths, and then, "And neither will I."

"No," he answered, his voice as gentle and sympathetic as he could make it, "you won't. You will stay young and fresh and lovely for many, many hundreds of years."

She didn't dwell on his description of her. She had a good idea of the general notion of what constituted beauty in their culture. And she had access to mirrors. She held no illusions about her appearance. That's just how it was. And it seemed that was how it was going to stay for a long, long time.

After a few minutes of melancholy silence, she sighed and asked, "So how did you two meet? I'll bet that's an epic tale, too."

Carlos closed his eyes and let his mind settle, arranging the details where they should go, and began the story . . . . . . .

_. . . . . . . The Moors in that area of North Africa were not reputed to be genial hosts, preferring a quickly slit throat over almost every other form of interaction with those of European extraction. The wars had been bitterly fought, and their memories were long._

_Mulay al-Yazid of Morocco hadn't been on the Sultan's throne even a year, and he was still given to lavish entertainment in his court. Carlos, who was fluent in the three local languages and could easily pass for a local, had performed a few services for the Sultanate, and as such had received an invitation to one of his soirees. The food was excellent, the floor show even better, with jugglers, a contortionist, dancing girls, and a fire-eater. But then the main event began._

_They all went out to the courtyard and the guards directed a large space to be cleared, a rough circle of perhaps half an acre, and then they wheeled out a great stone and dumped it in the center. It had a stout ring of steel in one side. Next, a cage made an appearance. The occupant, a very dirty young man with a shaved head and a ragged loincloth, had a length of chain attached to a shackle around one ankle. This was pulled over to the stone and fastened securely to the steel ring before the door opened. They pulled the cage away and everyone backed off. Then another guard brought out two bronze swords and pitched them, one at a time, toward the young man. He snatched both of them out of the air and stood staring at the Sultan, chin raised defiantly._

"_This man," said the Sultan conversationally, "is from the East. We do not know where. But the Ottomans captured him on their eastern border, in one of their endless skirmishes, and he was made a slave. I bought him five months ago."_

"_He seems quite comfortable with those swords. Are they truly bronze?"_

"_If they are, they are like no bronze I know. They are harder than iron and tougher than steel, and take and hold a better edge than any other metal I have seen. I insisted that they be part of the deal."_

"_What, when you bought him?"_

"_Indeed. He had them when he was captured, and they seem to be very precious to him for some reason."_

_That did pique Carlos's interest, and he determined then to examine the blades later. "So what is he going to do?"_

"_Watch."_

_A score of naked men shuffled in under the spears of the guards and stood to one side. In the balcony that surrounded the open courtyard, archers filed in and took their places, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. The Sultan's herald stepped forward. "The peace of Allah be upon you all."_

_A murmured, "And his peace return to you," skittered around the gathering._

"_These men, having been found guilty of piracy, are condemned to death."_

_The men in question just stood there sullenly, silently._

"_However, it is the Sultan's pleasure that they be given an opportunity to beg Allah's mercy. If they can face our champion and live, they will go free."_

_This was evidently news to the convicts, as their surprise came out in excited whispers. It was widely known that al-Yazid had enacted a cruel pogrom on the Jews of Morocco, and indeed, several corpses still hung from a gallows outside Fez, suspended by ropes through their heels. He was not a kind man. As one, the convicts turned and stared at the young man in chains. He didn't so much as glance their way, his full attention being on the Sultan._

_Four guards marched out and placed four groups of swords on the ground between the chained man and the convicts. The herald said, "Each man of you, choose a sword."_

_They hastened to obey, some of them fighting over the better weapons. Before everything settled out, one man was bleeding to death from a stab to the gut and another nursing a broken arm. They were dragged away._

"_If any one of you," continued the herald, "manages to strike a death blow to the champion, all of you will go free. But if, at the end of five minutes, he still stands, all of you will be beheaded." He stepped back three paces to stand beside the Sultan, picked up a large hourglass with very little sand in it, and said, "Go." Then he turned it upside down and set it back on its table._

_Most of the men yelled and charged at the chained man. His molten-hot gaze flicked in that direction, and his swords began a regular spinning pattern._

_Three men reached him simultaneously, all with swords high and coming down at him. Contemptuously, he tapped them, right, left, right, following up each tiny re-direction with a blindingly fast nip at the necks of the men. Those three crumpled to the floor and lay still._

_The next four men were perhaps two steps behind the first group, and didn't have time to stop or change direction when they realized they faced no simple challenge. Two of them were disemboweled before they could get out of the way, the third had his throat slashed, and the fourth his right arm removed at the shoulder. He stumbled away, screaming, until two of the archers skewered him._

_This left eleven men, who took stock of the situation and huddled up. A moment later they broke apart and moved to surround the captive. He stared around at them for a moment as they got into position, then stood straight, crossed his swords in front of his chest, and … closed his eyes._

_Carlos leaned forward, utterly mesmerized. Surely he didn't know …_

_But apparently he did. All eleven screamed and leaped to attack, whereupon the captive became a sirocco of death, his blades a bloodied windmill. It was over in seconds._

_The captive held his swords at the ready and stood still, untouched, glaring again at the Sultan. In a strange accent, he proclaimed, "I belong to no man."_

_Carlos couldn't help being moved. He turned to the Sultan and asked, "Would you be willing to sell this man to me?"_

_Dark eyes regarded him shrewdly for a moment. "You admire him."_

"_And you do not?"_

"_He is only a slave."_

"_But he could be so much more."_

_The monarch's thick fingers drummed the arm of his seat for a while as he thought it over. "I will sell him to you for two hundredweight of gold."_

_Carlos's brows rose sharply. "Two … ah. I see. You do not wish to sell him at this time."_

"_His performances please me. Also, I need not pay a headsman."_

_Carlos, knowing what a headsman usually took as pay (and it wasn't much), glanced around at the almost ridiculously opulent court and nodded, a small smile playing about his lips. "Of course. One must be frugal."_

"_Yes, one must."_

_They spoke no more of the slave._

_Two nights later, Carlos found where they kept the bronze swords, then broke into the holding pens and freed the slave. They were far, far away by the time the escape was discovered. . . . . . ._

Carlos cleared his throat and downed half of the small beer he held. "The slave's name was lengthy and difficult to pronounce, so I just decided to call him Juan. When I asked him about his native land, he stopped his horse, stared off toward the east for a moment, and replied, 'The mountains,' before trotting away. I decided that was probably a sore subject and didn't bring it up again."

She smiled a little. "Kind of you."

"But of course," he answered, returning her cheek. "He picked up Spanish without difficulty and was fluent inside a year. His original plan had been to head back east, but in the first place he didn't know whether he had any kin left and in the second, it was a very lengthy journey back to his homelands. So when I offered to take him to Spain (having expressed a keen interest in learning those amazing sword techniques) he didn't have to think about it too long."

"I'll bet. Certainly a better situation than he'd had."

"Too right. Anyway, once Juan got to know me and deemed me trustworthy, he decided he knew a good thing when it got dumped in his lap, and went ahead and swore the Oath of Righteous Honor."

"The which?"

"Something from his homeland, an accepted practice for his people." Carlos gave half a shrug and crossed his legs. "Over the next several years we got into enough trouble and saved each other's life enough times and learned enough of each other's secrets that we became closer than most brothers."

"I think that's very sweet."

"Don't let Juan hear you couch it in those terms."

"Oh, I bet he wouldn't mind."

"You want to go ask him?"

"… Not really. Not when it's this late, and he hasn't had the benefit of absorbing magic from a ley line."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he's …"

They both stiffened when one of the wards got a ping, their heads darting up. Black eyes met her cerulean gaze. _They are here!_

. . .

. . .

_A/N: Please place your trays and seat backs in the upright and locked position. And hang on tight._

_All comments welcome!_


	14. Exertion

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note:__"__War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is __**worth**__ war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself." -John Stuart Mill_

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 13: Exertion**

. . .

. . .

_Tuesday 27 July 1820, 12:05am_

Elsa immediately fell into the state of hyper-concentration required to view the astral plane, and the silvery expanse opened, revealing its secrets. Carlos followed a second later, impressed once again with her mastery. Their astral projections 'floated' side by side, watching the smoky red sparks of the assassins as they sneaked into the palace via one of the un-frozen doors. Elsa counted them off silently, finally saying,_ [[ … fifteen … that's a lot more than I thought there would … ]]_

They felt another _ping_. More of the sparks began flowing in through the unguarded back entrance of the wine cellar. Carlos began having serious misgivings as that group of twelve huddled up and then began moving farther into the palace. _**[[ … this doesn't make sense … there would be no need for such a large group … even if we assume that they were trying to … ]]**_

That's when the explosion rattled everything in the palace. All the wards around the main gates lit up, and a huge wave of red sparks flooded quickly in through what must have been a gaping hole. Elsa's projection looked over at Carlos's and said, _[[ … okay … you were right … they had a bomb … I guess I owe you dinner … ]]_

_**[[ … really? … NOW you're making jokes? … ]]**_

Elsa closed her connection to the astral plane and bumped back into the mundane world. When Carlos opened his eyes, she was standing, arms akimbo, and letting the wards' magic weave a hazy, translucent representation of the palace in the air to show her where the interlopers were. He studied their patterns and swiftly came to a conclusion. "The front gate attack is a diversion."

"What?"

"To draw our attention that way while the real threat sneaks up behind us."

She looked between the groups and then nodded once, tersely. "Okay, I can see that. It makes sense they'd try something along those lines. So which of the other groups is the true danger?"

There was a tiny bit of feedback when one of the defensive wards in the courtyard activated. A dull **WHUMP** reverberated through the floor as a monumental block of ice formed and fell some three man-heights to the ground. Suddenly the flood of red sparks was reduced by nine. Those left milled around for a few seconds, then gathered in a knot near the gate. Elsa murmured, "Fools rush in."

Carlos opined. "Effective measure, though."

She only said, "Hmh." He could tell from her trembling lip and straining brow how much this night's death toll – and her central role in it – was affecting his Queen, and his heart ached for her.

The group in the courtyard, still huddled so close together that they looked like one big red smudge, moved very cautiously toward the front door of the palace. Elsa noted quietly, "They'll find out soon how big a mistake _**that**_ plan is."

She and Carlos concentrated on the other two groups. He summed up, "Four of them attacked you the first time, so that was all they thought they would need. One escaped from the dungeon. Even given that they were going after a reigning Head of State, I'd be _**extremely**_ surprised if they'd sent more than a dozen to begin with, and it probably wasn't that many. You only need so many support personnel."

"So," she countered, "are the rest of the assassins in one of those groups, or spread between the two?" Neither of them doubted that the killers were present.

"My money would be on an even division. So, if we postulate that they started with twelve, nine of those sparks are assassins." The two Fey-touched watched carefully as the groups maneuvered around …

. . .

. . .

Anton and Miloslav commanded the group of thirteen thugs they had been able to gather for this invasion. They had no doubt that magical traps would be waiting for them … but likewise they felt secure in the knowledge that their weaponry could defeat sorcerous spells. They were replete with bottles of holy water, arrows and knives of silver, and grenades that combined the two. Their job was to neutralize the sorcerer. Anton in particular looked forward to it with some relish.

Each of the five assassins, within the folds and seams of his blackened outfit, had threads of blessed silver, all leading down to one twisted strand that hung out beside the soft boot, grazing the ground. This should catch any spell he tried to throw and conduct it away from their bodies. They weren't sure it would work more than once, or work perfectly the first time, but it was certainly better than nothing. It would give them time to lob their holy-water-and-blessed-silver grenades, and then the sorcerer would be just another man. And then he would die.

Moving along at roughly the center of their pack, Anton directed them whenever they had a decision to make. Miloslav brought up the rear.

One of the first things they noticed was how cold it was in the palace. Frost covered most surfaces, and sparkling stalactites hung here and there. The Ice Witch had prepared a welcome.

It was when they turned into the Southern Hall that things began to get really weird. Snow was banked half-way to the high ceiling along either long wall, which left only a narrow passage, less than an armspan wide, to walk through. The assassins sensed a trap and readied two of their bottles of holy water.

It did them little good. When the six armored knights burst out of the snow to their left and started whacking away at the brigands, they only had the opportunity to throw their bottles at two of them. The holy water had no obvious effect, which left them both cursing. Fortunately, the knights all seemed a little clumsy. Anton attributed that to being buried in the snow while waiting for them … but as it turned out, that wasn't it at all.

The brigand ahead of Miloslav rammed his long sword up under the nearest knight's breastplate, an instantly fatal blow, but the knight didn't even seem to notice. So startled by that fact was the brigand that he didn't think to avoid the pommel that came down on top of his head, laying him out flat. The knight followed that up with an overhead blow that almost completely parted the man's head from his neck. With the late killer's sword still sticking out of his middle, he turned to Miloslav and lifted his heavy blade.

But the Russian was having none of that. Three quick strokes severed the knight's arms and chopped through one knee. The armor collapsed, snow and ice spraying from the 'wounds'.

"Attack their limbs!" he yelled down the hall. "They're golems! You have to chop off the limbs!" Fitting actions to words, he bulled his way up to the next knight and soon sent it spinning to the floor.

When the last one had fallen and they had moved on past the trap, the leader of the brigands counted up their losses, and then rounded on Anton. "Five! Five good men! Those things killed almost one man apiece!"

"You knew it was dangerous when you signed on."

"I didn't sign up to fight ice monsters!"

The assassin gave him an incredulous look. "The Snow Queen is very powerful. You've been in Arendelle for weeks. You've seen evidence of her work. What ridiculous flight of fancy made you think this would be easy?"

"This is too much. We need to negotiate a new deal."

"Very well." Anton's arm was a striking adder as his thin blade penetrated flesh and tendon to bisect the spinal cord. The big man jerked once before his eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled into a pile. Anton looked around at the seven remaining men. "Anyone else wish to negotiate? No? Good. Let's move."

. . .

. . .

Elsa blinked a few times. "Did … did one of them just kill one of their own?"

"That's what it looked like to me," answered Carlos. "You've doubtless heard of the lack of honor among thieves. I would be quite shocked to find the situation improved among assassins." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Perhaps they had a disagreement."

"Perhaps." She gnawed lightly on a fingertip and said, "I'd thought the golems would be more effective. I wanted them to scare off the invaders."

"Maybe they _**were**_ effective. Maybe the assassins had to kill one of the others as a warning to keep moving."

"Huh." She shook her head in distaste. "Sorry. My brain just doesn't work that way."

"And you may imagine my relief that it doesn't."

That pulled a tiny smile onto her lips. Briefly. She turned her attention to the group moving through the cellars. "They've reached the stairs."

Carlos studied Elsa's profile as she tracked their progress, finally saying, "Are you sure you want to trigger it yourself?"

She nodded silently.

"They're going up."

"Patience, sir. I want as many of them on the stairs as possible."

"Sensible."

"Thank you."

He could sense her trembling, though she did a yeoman's job of hiding it. He wasn't at all sure she would be able to consciously and directly cause the deaths of those men, and he opened his mouth to say something …

The ward on the door _pinged_. Elsa stared off into the middle distance for a few seconds, but then she pulled in a long breath and waved a hand to activate the trap's magic.

. . .

. . .

Radimir didn't like being underground, and heaved a silent sigh of relief when they approached the stairs to the first floor. Soon, soon they would be away from the bone-chilling cold and the damp and the niter and the unfeeling stone and the crumbling earth.

He directed the men, with Pavel in the lead, up the narrow flight of stairs that had been carved straight from the rock. The passage was hardly wider than one's shoulders, and while he wouldn't have admitted it under torture, Radimir suffered a bit of claustrophobia. He called to Pavel, "Is it locked?"

"Yes. Just give me a moment …" The final tumbler kicked over and the door swung open. Pavel lifted a foot and stepped into the antechamber.

Five large, sharp icicles slammed out of the wall just inside the door, reaching to the opposite wall. At the same instant five more sprang from the wall at the bottom of the flight. This effectively trapped all the men on the stairs, and they all began screaming.

The lowest of the top set of icicles had stabbed through Pavel's lower leg, between the fibula and the Achilles Tendon, and the sudden pain was blinding. He reached back with his blade and chopped at the ice until he could get his injured limb free, then slumped to the floor.

In one-second intervals after the first icicles appeared, more emerged from the walls at the upper and lower ends of the stairs, gradually closing in toward the center. Twenty seconds later, of the seven men on the stairs, only Pavel had survived. Their group had been reduced to six, with one of them injured and cut off from the others.

Radimir had begun attacking the ice in earnest before the fourth set of gelid teeth appeared. He was _**going**_ up those stairs. He was _**not**_ going to let some backwater Ice Witch trap him in a cellar! Hammer! _**Hammer!**_ Break the ice! Get through! Shove a riddled body out of the way! Break more ice! Hammer! _**Hammer!**_

Nicolai watched with deep reservation as his Captain released his frenzy upon the remains of the trap. One of the blessed relics he had brought with him was a small tripartite mandala that he kept on a cord around his neck. It would glow and grow warm whenever it was near sorcery, but as it lay there in his hand, inert, it was dark and cold … so cold.

This magic was not sorcery. Did that mean that the Snow Queen … was of _Divine_ origin? It didn't seem likely, not given the stories they'd heard. And he could tell just by looking at her that she was not a troll or a kobold or a …

… or a …

… Wait.

The thought slammed into him like a maul.

Could she be _vila_? A true Spirit of Air?

A rapid chill ran up his back. Given the elemental nature of her magic, the Guild had assumed her to be a witch of some sort, perhaps in league with trolls. That she might be associated with the Fey had never occurred to any of them as even a remote possibility. Of course they knew all about the tales circulating through Arendelle concerning her powers and the Great Freeze and the Winterwarm and the Battle of the Five Ships. But the underlying feeling, and one which the Queen had apparently never contradicted, was that given the basically destructive nature of her powers (even though she had decided to use them for good) they _**had**_ to have come from a curse somewhere.

What if that was not the case at all? What if she truly was connected to the Court of the Bright Ones? In that eventuality, their assault was doomed for certain. He'd heard all about the Elves in his youth, having grown up in the care of his aged and very superstitious grandmother, well out in the hinterlands. Christianity had made only the most tenuous of inroads on the traditional religions, and she had followed the Way of Perun. So Nicolai knew all the old stories of the sun god and Veles, Jarilo and Morana, Svarog and …

_Morana! … Holy Hell! … Morana!_

Morana: ancient goddess of winter and death. The Queen of Ice. The Lady in Blue. She Who Walks in the Silence. He held his head, eyes clenched tight, dread rising in his chest. It made altogether too much sense. And it would be just like her to possess a Queen.

But … when he thought it over, it didn't really matter. Regardless of who (or what) they had to face, they had a contract to fulfill. Whether or not it was technically hopeless made no difference in the final analysis. Drawing a deep sigh, he looked around at the three remaining thugs they'd hired, noting the abject terror evident on all their faces. Two of them had vomited against the wall. Nicolai moved around to cut off their exit and pulled his blades. "Go on up."

They looked at him in disbelief. One whimpered. Another said, "Up there? You're full o' shit! No way in Hell am I …"

"The trap's already sprung. There's nothing you can do for your companions. Just be glad it wasn't you." Motioning with one blade, he continued, "We have a contract. You _**will**_ accompany us. You can take your chances up there, or you can die right here, right now. At this point I don't have a strong preference either way."

With reluctance pulling all their muscles into knots, the three skittered up the stairs, tripping over the disfigured corpses and trying not to scream. Nicolai followed. He would need to speak to the others.

. . .

. . .

The red sparks in the courtyard clustered around the front entrance.

"They'll need to touch the door to activate the ward, won't they?"

"Yes. Or I can do it for them." Rubbing at her face with both hands, she complained, "They were _supposed_ to run away _screaming._ God knows _**I**_ would after barely dodging thirty tons of ice!"

"They may yet."

Sadly, she shook her head. "Not, I fear, until more of them die."

He held up a finger for her attention. When she was looking into his eyes, he said, "This is a war, my Queen. And the first rule of war is that men die. If they don't want to die, they can run, and live. By staying and promoting the conflict, they have given up their claim to life or liberty."

She dropped her eyes, sniffed quietly and said, "You sound just like Karl XII."

"Who?"

"He was the King of Sweden at the beginning of last century. Fought Russia and Denmark a lot. He wrote a book about war and battle tactics."

"… How did _you_ happen to read such a book?"

"It was in Papa's library." She turned away and crossed her arms. He could just barely hear her sniff again. "And I … I had a lot of time on my hands."

Carlos felt his heart shatter to pieces in his chest at her words, and it nearly drove him to his knees. He wanted _**so badly**_ at that moment to comfort her, to mold her supple form tightly against him, to bury his face in that glorious hair and tell her that everything would be all right eventually, that they would get through this crisis and …

_And then what? After that, smart guy, what next? Are you thinking you'll just stick around? Think you'll get all cozy with Elsa after what you did to her mind …_

Viciously, Carlos pulled his thoughts out of that sucking quagmire, drew a long breath, and concentrated on what he had to do right then. "My Queen … I am so very sorry that your parents didn't understand how to deal with your powers. Even so, I think you have adapted amazingly well."

"I don't think I'd go that far."

"You are a stunning, dazzling success as the Queen of your nation. Your people love you. Excessively."

Pointing a slim finger in the direction of the courtyard, she countered, "Except for them."

"Pfft. In the first place, the criminal element doesn't count. In the second, they probably aren't Arendellians at all."

Turning back to him, her eyes widened. "You really think so?"

_Ah-ha! So __that's__ what has been worrying her! _"Absolutely. These are doubtless stragglers and leftovers from that obscene wave of scum that was threatening your kingdom's peace a week ago." He folded his hands together behind his back. "Had you thought they were simply disloyal citizens?"

"… I … um …"

"Perish the thought. I can state without fear of contradiction that you have …"

Another ping sounded in their minds and they turned their attention back to the fight. After a few seconds, Elsa said, "They're a lot closer."

"And a lot fewer. Five and two." He frowned. "It looks like those two are headed for my rooms."

"Isn't Juan there by himself?"

"Hmm. Technically, yes." He pointed at the shadowy diagram of the palace that floated in their midst. "But isn't that where you put that doppelganger?"

. . .

. . .

Miloslav's arm and forehead were still bleeding from the cuts he'd received when an ice statue exploded into a thousand flying knives. That was where they had lost the remainder of their henchmen. Anton was limping, his nearly-crushed foot shooting pains up his leg with each step. The folding-block trap he'd not quite avoided had been hideously effective.

They were very good, but they weren't perfect.

They _were_, however, almost to their goal: this hall contained the sorcerer's room.

Unlimbering the blessed-sliver grenades, they skulked down the passage in the semi-darkness. The nearly-full moon made the ice-covered windows glow, but there was no direct light and therefore no shadows. They were almost to the door when Anton caught sight of the Queen herself, hiding behind a pillar farther down the way. _That_, he thought as he motioned Miloslav to follow, _was most careless of her._ They moved swiftly in her direction, whereupon she took off running away. But they were much faster, and the hallway was long.

Miloslav pulled a strange device off his back, took aim, and fired an expanding net at the fleeing Queen. She must have heard its whistling approach because she turned and held up her hands as if to fire an icy blast. But it was too late. The webbing snaked around her, binding her tight and bringing her crashing to the floor. Anton jerked out a bottle of holy water as he ran up and splashed it into her face …

… where it melted through. That's when he noticed that she seemed to be made of snow.

"What the hell?"

"Gentlemen." The voice behind them spoke in French with an unusual accent.

The two assassins whirled, blades ready. Incredulously, Anton said, "You're that servant! What are you doing here?"

Juan lazily spun his bronze swords, grinning ear-to-ear. "I felt like a little sparring."

Anton snorted and flipped a contemptuous knife at him. Juan casually deflected it straight up, then as it descended gave it a mighty whack on the back end, sending it streaking back at Anton, who just barely managed to avoid getting stuck.

"So tell me," Juan asked conversationally, "how much did that mad Cardinal give you to embark on this little suicide mission?"

The assassins made no answer, but did glance at each other. How did a servant know about that?

"Because however much it was," he added, ambling in their direction, "it wasn't enough. You can't spend gold when you're dead."

"You'll soon know!" Miloslav lobbed a round, brightly sparkling object at their adversary. Juan, however, sprinted forward and hit the floor sliding on his stomach. The grenade sailed past, bounced on the floor, and exploded behind him, spattering his legs with hot holy water. A spinning shard of silver scored a line of red across his back.

He bounded back up in a trice and came at them, frowning darkly. "Okay, fun-time's over."

The assassins didn't have a spare moment to discuss the whys and wherefores of just how the blessed objects had so miserably failed to have any effect on the old man. They were much too busy trying not to get filleted.

Anton's footwork suffered badly from his injury, and Miloslav was limited to one sword due to his. Juan weaved an impenetrable wall of flashing bronze as he took their measure, learned their patterns, and devised counters.

Anton fell first. A doubled riposte had made him stumble back, his foot screaming at him from an unexpected twist, and he flinched badly. The opening gave Juan the chance to introduce the tip of his left sword to the assassin's left ventricle. He made a choked noise, folded up on himself and lay still.

After that, Juan really did simply spar for a few moments. Miloslav could tell, and it irked him more than he could express. He tried every trick he knew, but each was met and bested, leaving him with another shallow, dripping cut. Every handful of seconds awarded him a new wound. His sword hilt became slippery with his blood. His vision blurred in and out, the lithe, darting form of his opponent getting hazy …

He slipped on the wetted floor, tried to regain his balance, and slipped in the other direction. Juan's blade came down on the back of his hand, and his sword and three fingers fell to the flagstones. The last thing he (sort of) saw was the flat of the old man's weapon whistling toward his face.

. . .

. . .

Nicolai stood staring at the solid wall of ice filling the end of the hallway, feeling more useless and hollow than at any other time in his life. Radimir stared back at him from where he was held in the trap's transparent, frigid embrace, mouth open in a soundless scream, clawed fingers reaching toward a freedom they would never know.

They'd lost the last three thugs – and Pavel – on the floor below, sliced in pieces when razor-edged spinning discs of ice had erupted from the floor. With his wounded leg, he'd not been able to avoid them.

Dejectedly, the lone remaining assassin turned toward the Queen's rooms and trudged slowly up the hall. He had no doubt whatsoever that he was walking to his death, and was in no hurry to arrive. But with his last path of escape cut off, he had no other choice.

When he was still some ten paces from the door, it opened and the sorcerer stepped out. The two men stood still, regarding one another for half a minute. Finally, Carlos said, "There's only one way this is going to end."

"There may be two schools of thought on that."

The Spaniard smirked a little. "You know you _**could**_ save yourself a lot of grief and simply surrender."

"Or I could kill you first." He didn't sound very enthusiastic.

"I suppose the possibility exists. Though I wouldn't bet my life on it, were I you."

"That choice has been eliminated."

"You know the only reason you were able to hit me last time was that I was distracted. That won't happen again."

"… You recognize me?"

"I recognize your blades and your stance. You're the one I didn't kill."

"And you're the one who should be dead."

"Ah, yes. Poisoned blades. Fairly de rigueur for an assassin."

"And yet there you stand."

"Good breeding."

"Sorcery!" he spat.

That gave Carlos a mild shock. Eyebrows raised, he said, "You think I'm a sorcerer?" Mulling it over, he finally nodded slightly. "I suppose that would make sense, not having all the information."

"… Are you claiming _**not**_ to be a sorcerer? That's a lie! Anton saw you placing a spell upon the Queen!"

"Spell? What spell?"

"Yesterday. He had a telescope. Saw you through the window, standing behind her while she lay on a couch, casting your evil at her."

Carlos blinked at him, bemused. This 'fight' was going very differently from how he had imagined. "Yesterday. … On a couch? Wait … was there a blue glow involved?"

"Yes!"

Carlos actually laughed. Nicolai's face grew red.

"Who do you think set up all those traps you ran into? I was helping the Queen learn how to cast wards."

"… Wards?"

"Yes, wards. We could see you when you arrived, track your progress through the palace, keep note of when and how many deaths occurred. Your team has been very persistent. Insanely so, in my estimation."

"It is not insanity. It is dedication. And you are a sorcerer."

"I'm not, you know. I'm Fey-touched."

Nicolai froze. He said nothing as the seconds stretched out until finally, "You, too?"

"What do you mean, 'me, too'? You have no Fae blood."

"… the Queen …"

"Oh, you know about the Queen, then? If so, what made you think you could get to her?"

"We _didn't_ know at first. Thought she was just a witch. I … only tonight began to suspect she was … associated with the Bright Ones."

"Yes. A descendant. So you must understand the incredible levels of her power and the ultimate futility of your mission. You are, after all, the only one left. And we had not even bothered to stir from her room until your arrival here. In fact I could have simply let you get close enough to the door to activate its protective ward, which would have been _**highly**_ unpleasant for you … for the final few seconds of your life." He nodded toward Nicolai's blades. "Are you still determined to die for nothing?"

The assassin stared at him for the space of four heartbeats … then deliberately knelt and placed his swords on the floor. He unwound his head-scarf and tossed it aside. His flowing jacket followed. Then he began pulling weapons from various locations, making a small pile of them. Finally, he stood, holding one dagger and a small bottle. "Would you do one thing for me? This will settle my mind about your sorcery."

"That depends."

"This is holy water."

"Ah. Very well."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it? I'm a Christian. I have no demonic connection for it to disrupt."

Nicolai tossed him the bottle. Carlos pulled the stopper and sniffed it, determining that it was not poisoned. Then he poured some into his hand, dabbed a little on his face, and took a small sip.

The assassin deflated. "So it's true."

"It is. And I get it now. You thought you were facing a sorcerer. If you had been, armed as you were, you probably would have killed him. For that, I would have been grateful." He set the bottle on the floor and held out one hand, concentrating. A tiny ball of fire appeared, floating in the air above his palm.

Eyes growing very round, Nicolai asked, "What are you doing?"

Frowning hard at the fireball, Carlos muttered, "Taking precautions."

"… Precautions? Against what?"

The fire grew into a short column and began whirling madly, colors streaking through it. "Against what I think you're planning to do."

"Planning to …?" Nicolai's eyes widened as he understood. But by then it was too late. The knife in his hand suddenly glowed cherry red, and he dropped it with a curse. All the other blades followed suit, climbing quickly through the spectrum to a bright yellowy-white before slumping into a shapeless mass.

Nicolai dropped to his knees, staring at what was left of his weapons. "You aren't even going to leave me my dignity."

"In time, my good man, in time. You may kill yourself later, if that is your wish. First, we need to have a long chat about a certain man … a very _evil_ man who is wearing the red robe of a faith he knows not."

Elsa stepped out behind him. "I'm going to the courtyard."

"My Queen …!"

"No, Carlos. I have to do this. It is not necessary for anyone else to die.

He saw – and felt – her determination. "… Very well."

She walked over to stand before Nicolai where he slumped, defeated, her whirling ice magic hiding her hands. "I want you to know that I bear you no ill will, personally."

He nodded.

With a complicated wave of her fingers, thick bars of ice appeared around the assassin, caging him effectively. "But you must also understand that I am in complete control. Your life is mine."

"Yes, my Lady."

She nodded once and proceeded toward the block of ice holding Radimir. "Carlos, I'm going to clean up along the way."

"Very good, my Queen."

. . .

. . .

"Best three outta five! Come on, best three outta five!"

"Screw you, ya French bastard! You lost the toss. Now get over there and open the damn door."

Jacques DuPont, thief, late of Normandy and a resident of Arendelle these past three weeks, walked unsteadily up to the palace door, giving the gargantuan block of ice to his left a walleyed glance. Shuddering again, he pulled out his lockpick set.

With a resounding crash, all the windows on that side of the palace flew open, and most of the men in the courtyard gasped or screamed. Snow and ice began streaming from the windows, some of it pink, more of it streaked red. It whirled over their heads and settled into a great pile against the gate … blocking their only exit.

The front doors slammed open, knocking Jacques kiester over kopf, and a file of six armor-plated ice golems marched out and took flanking positions to either side. Elsa, Snow Queen of Arendelle strode between them, her pace stately, her countenance serene.

The men huddled together in a knot, sure they were about to die.

Elsa began a slow walk in their direction, and ice particles danced around her. With a careless gesture, she banished the colossal ice block. One of the men made a break for the wall, only to have some of the huge pile of snow turn into an icy claw and pluck him up to dangle four man-heights above the ground. It tossed him back to his buddies, who sort of caught him a little bit. He didn't hit _**too**_ hard. Maybe.

"You break into my home."

One slim hand raised shoulder high. Thick walls of black ice shot up out of the ground, surrounding the men on three sides.

"You wreck my gates."

She motioned with her other hand, and stout, icy bars sprang into being across the near side.

"You threaten my life."

A complex series of hand gestures ended with the formation of a row of living gargoyles around the top of the containment cell. They licked their frigid flews and growled in anticipation of meat. The men cowered as close to the center as they could manage.

She placed her hands on her hips and leveled her gaze at them, a small frown wrinkling the skin between her brows. "What, really did you expect?"

They began jabbering, begging for mercy, blaming others, claiming loyalty …

She held up a hand. "Enough."

Quiet fell.

Placing her hands together behind her back, she began a slow pace back and forth in front of the cell, finally stopping and tapping a dainty foot for a minute. "Here, then, is my solution. You blew my gates to matchwood. You shall rebuild them. You will be chained together in groups of three for the duration of your punishment. You will work under the direction of master masons and carpenters, and you shall complete the repairs in one month. At the end of that time, you will be assigned to various fields and quarries in the area, and will toil at hard labor for the next two years. At the end of that time, each of you will be evaluated as to your behavior during your sentence, and you will either be freed and banished from Arendelle … or you will work another two years." She smiled at them, but it was a _satisfied_ as opposed to a _friendly_ smile. "Yes, I think that will do handsomely." And she made to re-enter the castle.

"Your Majesty!"

Stopping, she barely turned, giving them a one-quarter profile.

"Where will we live?"

"That does not concern you at present."

"But …"

She spun back around, eyes blazing white. The gargoyles set up a raucous howling and snarled at the men.

"Do _**not**_ test my patience." And she left.

. . .

. . .

_A/N: One must wonder what it cost her to pull off that performance._

_All comments welcome!_


	15. Contrition

**Meltdown**

_by Concolor44_

_Author's Note: __Anna didn't get to have her say last chapter. She insisted on equal time._

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 14: Contrition**

. . .

. . .

_Tuesday 27 July 1820, 4:30am_

"It's not really that bad, Your Majesty," Jørgen said, trying to console his Queen. "There are but a _twentieth_ as many as we had to deal with after the Battle of the Five Ships."

"Yes. I know," she muttered, pinching her forehead with a grimace. "I know that. But we can't simply pack this gaggle of goons off on a ship."

"They _are_ guilty of high treason. We could just execu-"

"**No!"**

The Captain's jaw snapped shut as frost shot across the floor and up the walls. He realized his misstep at the same instant Elsa had exploded, and cursed himself for a fool. If everything the Spaniard had told him was true (and he had no reason to doubt the man), she'd seen enough death in this one night to last her several lifetimes … and had been responsible for most of it. That was an unconscionable burden to bear for one so inexperienced, and he would have gone to great lengths to spare her the pain. He had, in fact, tried to do just that … before she tossed him and everyone else out of the palace and made the final stand on her own. Well, her and de la Maria.

_An hour gone he had reported to his beloved Queen's study to find her sobbing as if every last thing in her life that carried any meaning had been burnt to ashes in front of her. Awkwardly he apologized and backed out hurriedly. If he never saw that again, it would be three days too soon. And de la Maria, that bastion of confident competence, pacing like a wolf outside her chamber, had looked just as miserable and just as completely helpless as Jørgen felt, a situation he had thought nigh onto impossible. He strongly suspected some sort of magical link between them that would make each privy to the thoughts, or at least the feelings, of the other. That would explain much._

Jørgen swallowed the rest of his sentence and stood silently, waiting on his Queen's further instructions. Controlling herself with some difficulty, Elsa drew a long breath and continued, "I already told them what I was going to do with them. But I didn't have time to think it through very thoroughly beforehand, and now … I don't know. Can it even be safe to inflict some of these ruffians on innocent farmers and quarrymen?"

_Ah! This, at least, I can remedy!_ "We will see to it that their chains are sufficient, Your Majesty. And I believe we can spare ten or a dozen of the Watch to stand guard duty over them, at least until we can figure out which ones need it more than others."

Sighing heavily, she leaned her head against the back of her tall chair and closed her eyes. "Yes. I suppose that will have to do, won't it?" Peeking at the walls with one eye, she gave a frustrated huff and banished the ice. _Damned powers._ Blinking then, she chastised herself for the lapse. She should keep vulgarities from her language, even in her thoughts. It was just another facet of how she had to live her life, how she managed to maintain control over the blasts of arctic rage she could unleash with the slightest exercise of will.

She was just so very Tired Of It All. For the love of God, she was twenty-two years old! What was she doing running a kingdom?

_Now, now_, her sensible side reminded her, _you've had the training, the schooling, and the example of your father. Many people younger and much less prepared than you have been thrust into that position._

Yes, but did they have to contend with ice powers that could destroy their kingdoms?

_You've done well so far. The people of Arendelle are behind you. They love you, idiosyncrasies and all._

Maybe so. But I need a break. A real break.

_After the wedding …_

"My Queen, by your leave, I will go and make arrangements with Donal the Smith."

That brought her out of her brown study. "Donal? The Scot?"

"Yes. He's quite the genius at making restraining devices. I think he would be perfect for the triple-shackle we'll require to carry out your orders."

"… Very well." She watched as he left, then rubbed her tired eyes … and froze.

The wedding!

The wedding was in five days! _Five!_ A highly structured formal ceremony, laden with centuries of intricate tradition, was taking place on Sunday. A ceremony followed by a huge blowout of a celebration that would center around the sendoff of the happy couple on their honeymoon trip to Corona, and would peripherally involve nearly a hundred dignitaries, ambassadors, and royals of one stripe or another. And the entire proceeding had been completely halted while she dealt with this Guild-of-Assassins mess.

Accompanied by a deep groan, her head dropped to the desk. But it only stayed there for a moment before she jerked back up. Anna! Glancing at the clock, she tried to calm her racing heart. Okay. It was not yet five. Surely her sister, the legendary slugabed, would still be asleep. _If she had gone to sleep at all,_ whispered a nagging voice. _After all, __you__ haven't._

Shut up.

That would be her first order of business, then. She needed to talk to Anna and get everything out in the open, aired out and settled. She walked to the door and stuck her head out. The two guards immediately turned her way and snapped to attention. Pointing at the one on the left, she said, "Kindly run down to the new hotels and find Princess Anna. If she is already awake, I would like to see her as soon as she has the time."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" And he jogged off, one of his greaves squeaking loudly with each step.

At that instant, her stomach voiced a lengthy protest over how much time had passed since her last meal. Blushing to her roots, she turned to the other guard (who was heroically fighting down a grin) and said, "I believe I will break my fast now."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The very picture of straight-backed dignity, she walked down to the nearest stairway and descended toward the kitchen.

. . .

. . .

_6:30am_

_What I most desperately need,_ thought Elsa, _is about ten hours of sleep._ But she knew not to bet on the odds of that happening … not with Anna as wound up as she currently was. And the really sad part of the whole rant was that she was making a lot of sense, which made Elsa feel like the worst sister ever.

"… had shown even just a _**tiny**_ little bit of consideration for _**my**_ concern! _'Is there anything I can do?'_ I asked. _'I'm your sister, we've been through Hell together and you can tell me anything,'_ I said. And what do I get? You d-didn't even _tal-talk_ to me!" She gulped back a sob. "The first I …" She had to pause for a deep breath. "… first I knew of what you and your Spaniard were up to was when the Guard came to my … my room and hustled me outta the freakin' _p-palace!_" The tears had been making intermittent appearances for the last several minutes, and were currently wetting her cheeks. "They wouldn't let me see you! Said it was on your orders! What the hell was I supposed to think?! I'll tell you what: **'Not again!' **that's what! Damn it, Elsa, you know how I … how it feels when …" She choked off another sob and crossed her arms tightly, not facing her sister.

Elsa thought that Anna, having had a twenty-minute rant to work through some of what she wanted to say, _might_ not hit her if she hugged the girl, so that's what she did, walking quietly up behind her and wrapping her in a soft embrace while murmuring, "I'm so sorry."

_*sniff*_ "Well you should be. _*sniffle*_

"I really wasn't thinking straight. Too many things happening at once and …"

Anna mumbled, "Just go off and leave me completely in the dark. _*sniff*_ Didn't know if you were trying to just - _*snuffle* _- sacrifice yourself for the kingdom or – or – or thought you had to face 'em alone because … because …" She whipped around and grabbed Elsa fiercely around the waist. "I **told** you not to be such a damned hero! I **told** you you're the best thing to ever happen to this kingdom!" Turning her head upward so that Elsa could see her red-rimmed and leaking eyes, she said, "Did you think I was pulling your leg? You can't risk yourself like that! You just can't. We can't do without you, Elsa. _**I**_ can't do … can't even _think_ about …" Burying her face in Elsa's shoulder, she let the tears have their way. And Elsa simply held her, stroking her long, loose hair and making small, soothing sounds.

Finally Anna said, "I've only had you back for a year and a little." She drew a couple of long breaths. "And we have so much more … so many more things to do together and, and … and so much to tal-talk about and … I can't do it again. Can't … can't lose you … again. _Won't_ lose you again." She pulled back far enough to catch Elsa's eye. "I won't. I won't let you shut me out again."

"No." Elsa tightened her hug, leaning her cool cheek against her sister's agitated brow. "Never. Never again. Promise."

"You have to tell me!"

"I will."

"You can't get rid of me that …"

"I don't _want_ to get rid of you! Was just trying to keep you safe."

"I'll be safe with_ you!_ Or I won't be! I don't care, and it doesn't matter!"

"I know." She dropped a kiss on Anna's forehead. "I was wrong. I know. I will never leave you out again," she promised, her own eyes brimming.

Anna stared at her for a second. "You swear?"

"Yes."

"You swear on Mother and Father's graves?"

This was really important, Elsa could tell. "I do. Absolutely. No matter what sorts of dangers come to Arendelle, I swear to you that we will face them together."

That stare held for another few seconds before Anna nodded. "Okay, then." She gave Elsa one more rib-cracking hug and let her go. "I trust you."

"Good."

"Now," and here she popped Elsa on the arm hard enough to make her flinch, "you can _start_ by telling me what happened! All anybody knows is that there were more assassins and you herded everybody out of the palace and set every last soul in the Watch and the Guard to protect the hotels because you didn't want anyone else to get hurt." She poked a finger at Elsa. "Even though that left _you_ completely unprotected!"

"That's … well, sort of true." She stifled a yawn and clenched her eyes shut against her growing fatigue. She'd had maybe three hours of sleep in the last forty, and none of that recently, and her ley-line fueled energy burst had worn off over an hour ago. "We weren't exactly defenseless."

"Yeah, apparently. So what all went on after Carlos showed you that ward thingy? I know you set some up around the palace. You told me that much." It was then that she finally noticed the disarray evident in Elsa's braid. Reaching over and taking its length in her hands, she gave it a critical eye. "Hold up. We need to fix this first. If you're gonna be addressing the people later, you gotta look the part of the regal Queen, right?"

"Addressing? … What do you …"

"Oh, you have to. Sooner the better, and the explanations will have to be good." She took the bindings out of Elsa's braid and began separating the locks. "There's a lot of scared people out there. All those guards that got killed? I'd say maybe one out of twenty in Arendelle lost a family member or a friend to those assassin bastards, and they need to know what you did about it. I know you said they were killed … somebody did say that, didn't they? Am I remembering that right?"

"All but one."

She looked alarmed. "He didn't get away, did he?"

Elsa shook her head. "Carlos made him surrender. He's in a special cell I created just for him. The ice is much harder and tougher than steel, and it's warded so that if something does happen to break it, I'll know." She dimpled very slightly. "Besides, our talented _hidalgo_ is … interrogating him."

"And he can't get out? Can't pick the lock?"

"There is no lock. There's no door, for that matter, just a tight lattice of super-hard ice. So unless he can turn himself into something really small, he's going nowhere."

"Sounds perfect." Her gaze wandered in the general direction of the window. "Guess we should've kept Hans in something like that."

"I would agree. But we kind of got off-topic." Her brow furrowed in thought. "You are right, of course. Things have been … distracting me lately. But I _must_ make an announcement."

"And before you do that, I need to get your hair into Queen mode." She strode to her vanity and grabbed a comb and two brushes, then flounced over to her bed, climbed up so that she was leaning against the headboard, patted the coverlet in front of her, and said. "Sit."

Elsa meekly took the seat, and Anna attacked the thick, platinum blond wealth. She whistled. "This stuff is so soft!" She peeked around to get into Elsa's peripheral vision and grinned. "What does Carlos think about it?"

"Think about what?"

"Your hair! The way it feels. He _has_ run his fingers through it, hasn't he?"

"No!"

"Sheesh, it's just a question," said Anna, a little put out at the vehemence of Elsa's denial. "No need to get bent out of shape over it."

"… I'm not … bent out of shape. That was … I wasn't … it was a funny question."

"Funny?"

"It caught me off guard."

"Seems like a normal enough question to me."

Elsa didn't respond right away. She was nervously knotting the sash on her robe, which made Anna ask, "So he hasn't touched your hair _at all?_"

Elsa's eyes darted around the room for a moment before she admitted, "We, ah … haven't touched."

Anna stopped and stared at the back of her sister's head. Then she scooted around to face her. "Not even a little bit? Not even once?"

"… um …"

"Wait … you mean to tell me he hasn't even, like, held your hand?"

"... No?"

"He must be made of solid rock! And you never, like, stumbled into him accidentally-on-purpose?"

Elsa's furious blush told Anna all she needed to know.

A devious grin bloomed on her face. "My, my. We most certainly will have to fix this." With that, she moved back around behind Elsa and went back to work with a brush.

"… Fix? What fix? I don't see where there's anything that needs fixing."

"Oh, come _**on**_! You two are _**nuts**_ about each other! What's crazy is that you haven't kissed him yet, much less even held hands!"

Seldom had Elsa's face felt so hot. "Crazy or not, it's the truth," she replied stiffly. "And I don't have a problem with it."

Anna dropped the brush and snaked her arms around her sister's shoulders, leaning her forehead against the blond mass. "El … I'm really sorry you felt like you had to isolate yourself all those years. I know it must have been horribly difficult …"

"That's one way to put it."

"Hmm." She nuzzled the back of Elsa's neck. "But you don't have to do that anymore. You've _got_ control and you _won't_ hurt anybody and you _don't_ have to be afraid to touch or be touched." She giggled. "I mean, by somebody other than me."

Elsa raised her hands and wrapped her fingers around Anna's forearms. Then she whispered, "You're … safe."

At that, the redhead gave a full laugh. "I'm safe? The Klutz of the Kingdom? Just because I haven't tripped into you in a week doesn't make me safe."

Elsa yawned again, widely, and replied, "You're _emotionally_ safe."

Anna leaned her chin on Elsa's shoulder. "Yeah, I know that's what you meant." She gave her a squeeze. "I guess that's something else we'll have to work on."

"One thing at a time. You have a …" A huge yawn interrupted her, pulling both her hands up to cover it. "… sorry … a wedding coming up in five days, and we aren't quite done with the planning. This assassination nonsense really derailed our efforts."

"Didn't it just." Anna gave her a disbelieving look and picked up the softer brush. "Not to mention threatening your life."

"That, too. At least Jørgen and Carlos are handling the cleanup. That's one worry off my mind." She closed her eyes and leaned a little into the brush. "That feels _**so**_ nice."

"You deserve some 'nice' once in a while."

"Mm."

"Oh, speaking of the wedding, while we were stuffed into that hotel yesterday, Penny found me and insisted, believe it or not, that we discuss the dress. That Cockney accent of hers drives me bonkers. I thought she had it all finished, but there was some kind of mix-up with the laces she wanted to use on the back and she didn't have what she thought she had so she was going to substitute another one except it was a different shade of off-white and she wanted to know if I'd mind. There." She admired her work, and the gleaming fall of platinum blonde. "That part looks good."

"… Mm."

Anna separated another thick handful and plied her brush. "She had a fabric swatch with her, and the laces, and for the life of me I couldn't really tell why she'd worry. The laces were maybe a tenth of a shade further over toward ivory than the light cream on the swatch, and honestly I can't imagine how anyone would ever notice. There won't be that many people close enough to even see 'em, much less do a color comparison. Like I would care. Does she even know me at all? We've spent, gosh, prob'ly thirty or forty hours in each other's company and the only thing she'll talk about is dress-dress-dress. And I just want it all to be _over_ already and off on my honeymoon getting all kinds of pregnant. You need a niece."

"… . . . … mm."

"At least you can make your own ice dress to go with anything, and pick whatever color you want, mostly. I think that would be so cool if …"

Elsa's head fell over and bumped softly into her shoulder.

"El?"

"… zzzzz …"

Anna gave her sister a keen look and nodded to herself. "Poor thing's worn to a nub. Too much excitement to sleep. She did say she was up most of the night taking care of details after the assassins came back." Carefully she worked herself out from behind Elsa and laid her down on the coverlet, being sure to position the pillow just right. "You just sleep, sis. Can't do your Queen thing up right if you're too tired to keep your eyes open. The announcement can wait 'til this evening."

She got up and put away the comb and brushes, then stretched hugely herself. "Y'know, come to think on it, I didn't have much sleep myself. Too keyed up." She stood and contemplated her sister for a bit, looked over at the clock, which was showing ten-til-seven, shrugged, and muttered, "We've got time. And the bed's plenty big enough." Then she climbed on behind Elsa, got into a comfortable spoon, and was asleep in minutes.

. . .

. . .

_A/N: They just really needed a little sister time._

_All comments welcome!_


End file.
